When She Finally Dies...

When she finally dies, will regrets flutter from her body like butterflies? Will flowers grow from the ground above her unfinished heart? Will everything be sucked into a tragic past and yet maintain some epic tale of failed love throughout the ages?

I think many people live in fear. They follow rules, they do so as to feel safe, not law-abiding. They hide behind barriers and walls, and do not face the true battle as our recent ancestors did, standing in the middle of battlefields being shot and blown to pieces. They think of only their own needs and pleasures and desires and not of the ones others have, and how to truly share experiences and places and things. How many of you are busy taking photos of a place you visit rather than standing side by side with a loved one, forgetting what will just join a million other photos, and actually soaking up the sights?

When she finally dies will she leave as a proud vessel and her soul empty out into the universe with a wealth of pride and love, for all she ever set herself to, all her eyes fell upon and all she touched? Will she leave behind life lessons, valuable ones, for coming generations? Will it all have meaning or will she have left a cold shoulder astride a statue?

It is easy to ask questions and perhaps of the infinite answers all we could ascertain is that there will never be one answer, or at least not one on which we would all agree.

When she finally dies bury her deep, see how strong her will could be from the other side. A battle against nothing is an unnecessary challenge. For I sit here alone, waiting on clouds. They come, they arrive, they are blown here, and then they pass. This is life. Sometimes the wind blows quickly, sometimes the candle flames go out. Sometimes love is not enough and sometimes it cannot grow because we just can't let it inside. I suggest finding the key and the handle and opening the door. For we know nothing, so listen and learn. Unlock those doors and let anything inside, that you possibly can. Let it inside. For when she finally dies there should be no butterflies.