And now you have seen your death.
You walked up to it, unaware
Drawn by how its corner flapped in the wind.
How graceful, you thought, yet simple —
Beckoning, imperfect, concrete.
You had this chance to know each other,
But it was looking the other way
And you weren’t ready to see.
Your death met someone else
And now we mourn them.
But this is not a day of sadness for you —
Maybe one for remembrance,
One for the dance, one for life.
One forgotten perhaps, in time.
One more day to smile without thought
A day to breathe, and taste, and fuck.
Yes, one for the dance, you remember now!
This is a day for borrowing time
And forgetting to give it back!
A day for reading your own fate
And deciding it needs a few tweaks.
This day is a gift, poorly wrapped
But just what you needed.
Because, you have seen your death now:
It’s a paper covered in loving prose,
On a picture of someone else.
It’s one candle shining light on another
It’s the telling of tales —
Simple acts, and lives turned.
And somehow, all of them are yours.
And somehow, all of them are here.
These are borrowed days, and debts paid.
Walls tacked with tattered prayer,
Their corners flapping in the wind.
Stories of loss and joy, forgiveness and regret,
Full of everything you’ve ever done wrong
And everything you have ever. done. right.
Some day you’ll be ready to see
And you will find it looking right at you.
But there is no time for that now —
You have stories to write
And have just found a day, full of them.
Just a day.
One forgotten perhaps, in time
But full of simple acts,
And lives turned,
This is a day to decide
Which story is yours.