The Wings of Butterflies

Before my wife passed away, I knew she was gone. I mean, her essence, what she really was in life. I looked at her body still sustained by machines, I saw her breathe, but there was no point in talking to her. We had said goodbye with a long conversation, remembering our best times together. Then, she had gone. I watched her skeletal face, turned to one side with closed eyelids. She breathed softly, but there was no one there. Death is a transition. One day the flesh fails and then it opens...