you received an email,a phone call maybe a just a bothered relative. circumstances reveal that he she lived.
lived well enough for you to contemplate whether you will miss them.
Their belongings remain intact,
the impact of solitary life hinders your soul from mourning.
well wishers distract,sultry hymns at the background make you realise,
when people go,
what they did or where they go somehow is important. Did you live well? Were you a fake? Did you acclimatize to hate,or were you complacent with love. Did you tythe faithfully, did you have a will or a wife?
Decisions remain a blur,making love seems wrong and the black gown staring down at you symbolises the dark night When people go,sunday is blue. Monday always seem longer and Tuesday holds enthusiam for bloom.
For when people go flowers still blossom, they remember your soul more than humans do. The grass is always greener where your body lay. The seasons still live and when the grass browns, it will make good hay.