When someone leaves, what remains?
An “in memory of” on Facebook, a black-and-white profile picture, a last post with 360 likes, a music video
8 unread WhatsApp messages, 1 grey tick instead of 2 in a group chat
Nocturnal analysing of your social media accounts, finding truth in between your Instagram captions
Your last statement to the world, a peace emoji just above said music video
The question if this is what peace looked like for you
The question if it really was peaceful
The question what crossed your mind, 1 millisecond before the world before your eyes turned into a black void forever
The question when you thought about becoming a memory for the first time
The question when you thought about becoming a memory for the last time
The question where souls, if they exist, go when someone dies
The question what state of aggregation souls have
The question if you’re now air, soil or both
A cold shiver when I find the ad for your room, published 4 weeks ago. You were always looking ahead.
Your books and files meticulously arranged in one of the pictures, neat as a pin
The question how it must have had looked inside of you. Was it the chaos or were you tired of cleaning up? Did you have windows, could you see outside? When someone knocked, did you open? When did you realize the light switch? When did you decide to turn the lights off?
When someone leaves, what remains?
An empty room
Unread messages
People reacting with that crying emoji on all your posts
Memories
Things you’ve left undone
Anger, sympathy, maybe someday absolution
Anguish, fright
Thoughts about your family
Good reasons, bad reasons
Philosophy
Compassion
An obituary in the local newspaper
An iPhone with no battery
A voicemail leading directly into nothingness
An as good as new e-piano, only 5 weeks old
A rancid peace of butter in the back of your fridge
Administrative workload
An incomplete mission
Questions without answers.