I need no funeral. Burn me to ashes and throw those into a vast land of pluma and parchments or drown me in my infinity pool of similes. Whichever is more convenient, you may do so, for I am contented with both. I shall celebrate death where I wanted to live. I shall go wherever the wind takes me. I shall be a free bird; the only thing I wanted to be.
But if you must, throw me a funeral without flowers. Flowers die and I don’t want anything to die with me. Instead, send me cards. Cards like how a 5-year old would send a card: Handwritten. Tell me everything you hid from me, everything I were to find out if I would have lived longer and bury it with me. Keep a little part of yourself with my body and come back every year to dump a little more. Pretend like I was only working abroad and letters were only sent one-way. I would never want our friendship to die as well.
When I die, cry me phrases and morphemes of love. Cry me of no tears except for reasons of joy. Instead of a memorial, I want a reception. Instead of telling who I was, predict who I could have been. Instead of recalling memories with me on it, make new ones because of me. I want you all to laugh. I want you to celebrate. Okay?
If to choose between a casket of glass or diamond, let me decay in see-through windows. All my life, people have been thinking they know me but they only know of what I want to be known as. Like every other breathing creature, I’ve been hiding behind masks of unbound limits, masks that call of no true emotions. For once, even in death, let me be that transparent. Let me be that easy to read. Expose me to the world. Make me vulnerable. Make me what I wasn’t all my life. Open my book that has been locked for the longest of time. If only people bothered to try to unlock it, then maybe someone would have known there wasn’t a password at all.
And as I dip myself to the unknown, I shall leave with no words of rust. Let my locutions be of no metal that weakens over time but value of such gold that never expires. And on my tombstone, let it not be RIP but BRB.
I’m always going to be here. Even though I’m not. And when I die, please engrave this somehow. It’s not goodbye. It’s hello. Be strong for me.
Forever young,
Erika.
What was I thinking when I wrote this? eijsdfkxc
