If We Die Then...

If we die, then let the world know we were here without asking permission. Let the dust carry our names on its back, whispered through cracked windows and broken fences. If we die, then let the silence be louder than all the noise we tried to make while breathing. Let it thunder in the hearts we left behind, not as sorrow, but as proof we mattered. If we die, then bury our pain but not our laughter. Keep the moments we never posted— the ones too raw, too real, too human. If we die, don’t speak of us only in past tense. We built what still stands. We touched what still moves. We loved like fire. And if we die, don’t say we are gone. Say we returned— to sky, to wind, to earth. Say our stories slipped between raindrops, writing themselves on the skin of everyone who remembers how we made them feel. Because if we die, then let it be known: we didn’t vanish. We just left pieces everywhere we dared to live.