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Death has so many sordid details that those who are left behind are left grieving. We never really know how it feels, to be released into nothingness and yet we are frightened of it, or at the very least, frightened for the people who are to confront it soon.
I, on the other hand, have often said, that there is something about the beauty of being nothing that defeats even poetry. No metaphor can ever capitulate how it is to be, at one moment, alive and meanigful, and then nothing, at the next.
Nevertheless, we take on perspectives and either fear death or confront it and live life waiting for it.
It is in times like these, when one sees other people grieving the death of their loved one that one should realize how blurred the line is between something and nothing. It is not really black and white nor dead or alive.
I look at my friend who has lost her father and I tell myself, and know for certain, that my friend will forever grieve about her loss. The things she never got to say, will be said in her mind, everytime she remembers her dad. Things she never would have said, even if given the chance. In a sense, even when the body of her dad no longer persists, the memory, has become even more alive. It cannot be touched, held, nor felt but it is more real now than it ever was for those left behind.
I probably don't make sense...
when one puts things into perspective, and tries to fit it into sentences and paragraphs, one would always fail.
Death, life, happiness... these words are but failures of semantics.
posted by The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 7:22 PM
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