The Art of Death

The hardest part of death is the emptiness you'll feel after. It's like not bringing a coat in a winter day. It's cold. And when the memories come rushing like a blood in your heart, hot tears come running in your cheek, without you knowing it. Lively and brilliant days become dull. The memories leaves a hole in your heart that extremely aches. And then when you linger to that old and now, an empty space, you'll hear the silent laughs that you once shared. Normal things becomes a sweet memory. As you stare to that old hall, you'll become frustrated to brought the memories back to life. You'll be thirsty for those moments again. But those memories were as cold as ice and undrinkable. It's like hugging a breeze, which can never be done. Then, you'll suddenly realize that this is the cycle of life. What was created will be brought back. You'll suddenly realize life, how the world continues to rotate and how the sun still rise in spite of your loss. People still prepares for the morning rush, as if nothing happened to you and as if they care.

But death also means that you'll be a part of everything. You'll be a part of the blue skies, starry nights, deep oceans and the winds. From nothing, you'll suddenly become everything. You'll live forever to those who really care for you. Until they exist, your memories will be kept alive, and so you are. And even though you left, a part of you still lives to those hearts you once touched.

Now, this world is an art, and that is how life and death was designed. It existed before we do, and it will continue even until we're gone.

 Angels comes in different forms, mine has four legs, a fur and barks. I miss you so much.