Who knows where we go when we die?
Does the past linger for them too?
Do they really watch over us,
Or is there such a utopia that surronds them,
That they forget us, and really leave us all together?
I do not believe this, yet have no idea what happens.
Who would they go and see?
I would want to be so many places,
All at once.
Try to make myself a part of everyone's day,
I would like to break myself into a million pieces.
Make myself into inanimate objects of everyone's day.
And, everytime they used that object,
they.... not knowing why were reminded of me.
A colour even, A fictional character,
When I die,
I want to be ink on paper,
Shades of pink lipstick,
I want to be an invented imaginary place that only two people really know exists.
I want to be a kiss,
a hug,
A hand on someone's shoulder.
A tear that magically disappears as it runs down a cheek.
A quiet warm feeling that makes you feel so safe.
I want to be everything, anything.
A memory that will never fade from one's mind.