The funeral was exactly as I imagined it—somber, yet strikingly beautiful. I marveled at the crowd as their cries mixed together like a heavy fog of lamentation that hung in the air. A fog that would undoubtedly follow them into the wake and, in some cases, follow them home. Through the procession and even after the burial, I spoke to no one, as I have always had a distaste for redundancy. After all, what more can you really offer besides a damn good hug and your condolences to the bereaved? A few days after the burial, I finally decided to visit the grave. The man's family put a lot of effort into the looks of it. I found beauty in the grave's simplicity. Before me confined to the earth was a sleek black marble headstone with freshly-painted white lettering that read, "We are all ephemeral. Take note of what you see now—one day you'll be seeing the world through the eyes of a ghost". Of course, I can vouch for myself in this matter. I wrote it down when I knew I was dying, and envisioned how lovely it would look on my grave. Now here I stand before my own grave, seeing the world through the eyes of a ghost.
A/N: It's 3:12 AM and inspiration struck, so enjoy a friendly reminder that I'm not dead.
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Miscellaneous Murmurs
De TodoI tend to be one of those that has late night epiphanies that I must write down before they disappear. This book is simply a place to put those little ideas/thoughts/philosophies. Enjoy if you please, and do leave feedback, should you be inclined to...
