The Comfortable “After”

I contemplate what happens after;

Your image, the spectrum that emanates through my prism

In this solitude, a visage ever replete with spirit

Must be fated to wandering as an umbra of the land.

Our bonds, passions, sandcastles in the air - all nugatory.

But it is perfect this way. Complete. Crystalline. And most importantly,

It is necessary.

When wavering souls ponder what happens after, they may surmise,

“Everything will stop.”

But not everything will stop.

You will not be here. Everything else will remain, yes. But you will not.

I have come to terms with this.

Some wear solace as a mask for illusion.

They create the most conventional farce out of their lives,

Believing that the world will sense their eventual descent.

It will happen in May or November, on the sixth or the seventeenth,

In the morning or the afternoon hours, on the street or in one’s own bed.

When it happens is irrelevant.

It will happen. Do not deny it. But take the sentiments with you.

Someone might cry. Someone might rage. Someone might laugh.

You just have to find them.

I take comfort in the knowledge

That you will be in my embrace tomorrow.