What Would They Whisper About My Absence?
Will they remember the times I wore my hair up with a green ribbon, a symbol of my vibrant energy? I wonder what they will feel whenever they hear my name again.
Will they prefer to avoid the topic or embrace the memories of the moments when I tried to be delicate and thoughtful? Will they smile, recalling how we chose to observe others silently rather than speak ill of them?
Will they prepare a eulogy for me, listing every characteristic they loved about me? Will they remember me in the foods I loved, saying, “That was her favorite”? Or will they feel a pang of sadness, reflecting on the time we could have shared together?
Maybe my name will stir thoughts of regret — the moments when my anger left words that haunted others. Will they still take the time to cry for me?
Am I worthy of their tears, their grief?
Will they at least show up at my wake? Even just a whisper of my name, softly spoken, wishing for me to rise one more time — will that ever cross their lips?
Did I live well enough for them to remember me? To see me not as someone gone, but as someone who lingers in their minds, still alive in their memories? Will I become part of their prayer when they light a candle, the flame flickering as if caught between this world and the next? Will that light guide my soul to where it needs to go, or will they wonder if I ever truly left?
In those quiet moments, will my absence weigh on their hearts? Or will I fade like a forgotten flame, leaving nothing but cold ash behind? Will the grasses eat away at my headstone, or will someone still come to leave flowers? Will they sit with me by my grave, telling me how their life is going, sharing their stories with the earth above me?
Will I be more than just a fleeting thought, a name written in dust? Or will I remain in their stories, whispered in moments when they remember how we once shared the same space, the same breath, the same light of a candle before it finally flickered out?
