Not being able to live is much worse than dying.

Fear. Fear. And more  Fear. 

Holding on to something. Anything. Grasp onto any shred of hope. Perhaps one day fear will no longer appear. But permanently reside and you will no longer feel its absence and its arrival. You can’t fear fear when that is all that there is to fear



Down the third aisle you can stroll if you want to find some trolls giving away the jewels  

That aisle can hide the truth         

Like a child and a fairy stealing his tooth

Down that aisle we shop for smiles Pearly white, and perfectly aligned 

Down the third aisle we ask no proof to be filed                                 

No identification. We are never defiant 

Down the third aisle we each get a cart 

We shop till we drop 

Down another hole , another stage prop 

To be back in that place 

The third aisle where we are all packed and stacked 

Perfect cardboard boxes, freshly cut plastic smells. Awaiting the price tag for one’s denial. 

down the third aisle they can shop for us in piles 

If we just close our eyes , recite our  hymns and, pray for our buyers. 


– Excerpt –

–  Do you know what life is just like?

Well, Life is like a symphony. You may like it at first, even relate to it. It may conjure some living-like spirit of thoughts and emotions that holds you so deep. You feel you are right back there. So you feel safe again and think it is so soothing and mellow, slow yet rhythmic and in every delay and lingering in each note there is an absolute thrusting climax to be attained at the end of it , you enjoy it to the fullest at first. Then minute by minute it keeps going faster and faster, yet you still like it. Until it gets even faster, a little bit too fast for you, perhaps a bit obtrusive now. Your heart is beating and your senses are barely keeping up with the melody. Then your senses are barely keeping up with the memory of its need to keep up with that melody. Then a sharp cold tingly feeling comes hurling down your spine. It is so discomforting you don’t feel as safe and guarded anymore. And that’s so scary when there is nowhere to turn to in order to escape this. A shelter of some sort. Even for a little while. So you try and pause it, over and over again, until suddenly amidst your desperate attempts to lower the volume, rewind and/or pause it, it just stops. Only you are not ready, as it simply and promptly stops.  It is over and you did nothing because there was nothing to be done. And that’s not enough for you. It is not fair, that you are left behind. Once again, and this time for the last time you are late again. You couldn’t catch up. But as a selfish child you don’t care for your incompetence, you want the ride to wait for you to hop on. You want more of the pleasure and undoubtedly the thrill.  You want to make it, to succeed so you never have to face the facts and taste the failure and helplessness when that is all that is left on your plate.  As there is no more for you, and nothing more is to be said or done. So you try and remember the good times you had , the passing fleeting moments of satisfaction you had throughout the symphony that high rise that brought back to the moments where, you truly felt alive. And the thought crosses your mind every once in a while: if you can only pause it, and change it a little bit. Adjust it to your liking and needs, lower the volume, or set it in slow motion. such an uplifting thought. But unfortunately you must know by now that you can’t. No one can.



– Why is suicide considered a cowardice act? When in fact most, if not all people at some point or another fear death. The unknown. The end.

But the person that goes knocking on deaths door, surrendering themselves are weak? Going face to face with the unknown. The possible nothingness? Those who are ready to leave shouldn’t do so. Because we don’t believe that they should be? That no one in their right mind would do such a thing? Whose mind is it?

I find it quite ironic that people label those who commit an act they wouldn’t dare to do “Weak”.

Furthermore, why do we owe life to be strong? To put on the effort, to reach for the stars, to expand our horizons and never, ever give up?

And if not then we are deemed weak, less of, inept in a way even.

If there is one constant thing we know about living is that it ends. Now what happens afterward, is up for debate. Or speculations really. But we know that it ends. Death comes. We end.

But when someone takes charge of their own life, and a huge part of it which is death, that person is looked down upon. That person was weak. Selfish and all the condolences and the put on faces of disbelief can’t hide the fact that what we really can’t believe, can’t comprehend how someone can do this. Or don’t want to. No. because we already have the answer we need “life if for living”. We have a civil and moral duty to force everyone into believing so; for their own good. That they are better off alive, that everyone is.
And Obviously since we are still alive. We “put up with it” we “are strong enough to wait out the storm” And thus judge them if not even resent them for doing something that, in best cases we never thought of, and “worst” cases never had the courage to do. 

It is true that everyone is fighting a battle, in some way. But battles end. Sooner or later. And even though we know they do, maybe some don’t always want to wait for the end to approach.

Maybe some are just ready?

Maybe some are just ready to cross. Perhaps. Just perhaps the “when” is irrelevant in the bigger picture? But that thought can’t even be entertained when the preferred picture is the one where we desperately try to prolong life running around panting on the inside jumping from one new cutting edge discovery to the other, from raw diets to heal on the inside, to rejuvenating surgeries to appear healed on the outside, to, and that is my favorite one;  garnishing enough good deeds to make it for the afterlife.. The after party, where we really start living.

The thing is, No matter what you can never truly “understand” what someone is going through. You can sympathize, even relate. But you can’t with certainty feel every fiber of it. You simply can’t be the other person. Not for a minute to even feel an ounce of what they might be feeling. To comprehend a speck of their thought process. No matter how hard you try to convince that person, and yourself in the process that “it gets better” that is a promise you can’t guarantee.

 A promise you make to make yourself feel better for “doing the right thing” “Saying the right thing”. We turn someone’s life and decisions into our own script and we shout the lines across the stage for all of the cast to hear, over and over. And over until we end. The lights are out. The stage is empty.
You can promise a possibility of things getting better. But don’t we already know this? What if you no longer care for possibilities? For fleeting moments of joy, however long they are. What if, just if, you’ve had your fair share of joy and you want to leave now? What if you are simply, content?

We all end. Life ends. But ending it is yet somehow, wrong.

The truth of the matter is; no matter how hard we try to delay it death is part of living so respect that and truly live, and let live. In all that entails.

BUT on a final note if we can’t accept / respect someone’s choice then perhaps just choose our words carefully “Suicide is for the weak” said amongst those who are still living .. Well let’s put it this way; we can never know the impact it might have. After all every person who has ever committed suicide was, once, alive too. And I’m sure we would hate to think that we had anything to do with a cowardice act in any way. 


Life. Life is all about the choices you make. Or so we are told .

 Every action has a consequence.

You reap what you sow . 

… And all of these worn out claims We hear constantly echoing in our ears every time we fail. Every time we are left behind. Every time we , yet again, can’t seem to reach anything. 

We just didn’t make the cut.

Life is what you make of it. But if that is so , then wouldn’t the actions of those before us predetermine, or to some extent at least highly, if not even deeply affect our own beginnings and thus, possible choices we make and outcomes? Are our lives the consequences of those before us? And who is truly to blame. If there is blame to begin with. 

Then what is really , left up to us to decide. How much have we got ? How much is expected. And why. 

Why once again, are we fighting to push out these voices in our heads , these fingers pointed us from a higher stance “you brought this on yourself” ” you only have yourself to blame”  

–  what did we really expect ? When life owes you nothing , how much are you willing to convince yourself you owe yourself? 

She sat there scrolling through  the pages. watching , more like looking , at all of the pictures of her friends . How they’ve grown . How they are doing, what they are doing, but most importantly everyone they are surrounded by . This was nothing new. She has been here before . And certainly was no shock that she knew most of the people in those pictures.  After all , one time ; at the beginning of it all, she was their friend too. 

The story always starts the same. And ends the same too. 

So here you go; surprise , surprise. She has managed , once again to push every one far away from her. She is left with the , all so familiar , bitter sweet taste. That , unlike her, never fails to disappoint. Specifically when  all it did was supply her demand. 

People no longer included her or even expected her to want to be included. Rightfully so , after all that was exactly what she was aiming for. What she’s always aimed for in every relationship she’s ever had. Always leave before they do. Never be available on all levels. Make sure they know you never really want to be a part of them, especially when you most need it. Because, well… you really shouldn’t. 

(You only have yourself to blame) – She often thought to herself . Putting herself in their shoes she wouldn’t want to be around herself as well. 

It may sound stupid, absurd and utterly uncalled for. Her behavior , that is. But it is the only one she can master. The only one that truly resonates with her. The one she truly, truly detests but excels at. 

The truth of the matter is she has mastered the art of failing before she had actually failed. The art of being in that dark lonely pit when she wasn’t put there yet. It is just easier to predict, foresee and, act accordingly before it catches up on her unexpectedly. If failure was the inevitable outcome of life then it would do her best to decide when and how. Because then at least , she’s succeeded in failing. 

Perhaps, like everything else in life , Success is relative too. And as long as you can reiterate to yourself that you “did it!” you can slowly push the other voices out ; the ones screaming at you that you only have yourself to blame. After all, You would end up with nothing to blame yourself for when, you have truly , and sadly succeeded in what you have set your mind onto. I did it . Not them. 

Pathetic, but necessary, and its necessity births its legitimacy. she made herself believe. After all , life is what you make of it. 

Or so we are told. 


There is a man hugging a tree. No, not a tree hugging, nature loving peacenik by the looks of his polished Italian leather loafers. He is simply a man. A young man hugging a tree. In the middle of the crowded streets of San Francisco. People are passing by. They look at him. Glance for a second or two, then move on. Like I said he is a clean looking man. With sunglasses too. Perhaps I didn’t mention his overall appearance and how he looks clean and shaved, but I presumed the Italian loafers; the polished pair. Gave that away.

The man is hugging the tree. He is not a scary looking man. Not a homeless raggedy looking man. So why is no one stopping? Because he is a man hugging a tree. And he doesn’t look threatening. He looks simply like a man hugging a tree. And people don’t want to be bothered why people do the things they do. They simply like jumping to their own conclusions as to why this man is hugging a tree; why anyone would hug a tree.

“One too many pills mixed with a drink or two”. A lot would assume. Perhaps some sort of “herbal soul -cleansing halluceginic? “

Maybe he is experiencing whatever people are willing to believe they have no control over when they are “under the influence”

A man passed by him. Holding a toddler. Stopped and asked him if he were alright. Now immediately everyone is given another green light to pass another judgment;

who in their right minds approaches a man hugging a tree in the city with a toddler in their arms?”

A man holding a toddler approaching another man hugging a tree. That’s who.

Another man stops by. He stops to take a photo of the young man hugging the tree. The man seems annoyed. He is annoyed that there is something off with his lenses, the focus of his camera is shifting. He can’t get a good picture or clear shot of the man hugging the tree…. Or maybe, he is simply annoyed, while taking a picture. Perhaps he is just an annoyed man taking a picture.  Who said there is a rule of general serenity and kept composure to be encompassed when taking a photo?

Now what if this had been an experiment of a man hugging the tree and how the people would react? To shine a light on the cruelty of the human race. The stage people are in now. In this fast moving world, where they simply can’t be bothered without anything but a snap quick judgment.

Well, in that case then perhaps I should probably stop typing this while looking at the man hugging the tree.

Let’s proceed with hopes that it isn’t a filmed experiment. Yes, my own embarrassment and fear of exposed hypocrisy of pointing out people’s cruelty and lack of kindness overwhelms my hope, or lack thereof, that this young man, is an actor. And doesn’t need any real help.

A very fragile looking thin and short old lady passes by with three full bags of cans and empty bottles. This old woman doesn’t even bother, or just simply doesn’t acknowledge this young man. One would wonder if maybe this old woman had, had her fair share of young men hugging trees.

Right across the street from this tree that is currently being shown affection and being cuddled. Is a store with a rainbow flag on it. Now we all know what the rainbow flag represents. Unity and acceptance, but above all; love. Love is love and love unites. Or something of that nature describing love as the answer . Perhaps it is . To everything . But it is not to be found , unfortunately everywhere. No. That would be too convenient for people.

So on the other hand, we have those people who believe in love and , have fought and still are fighting for years and years for these simple rights. And now in a lot of the parts in the world their fights, endless efforts and bravery are celebrated with rainbow flags and marches in remembrance of these brave individuals.

So perhaps there is a different type of love here between this man and the tree. No one really knows what this tree means to this man. Or what any given tree could mean to someone. Somehow the idea of an infatuation in trees and the bravery of a young man who dared to express his undying love for the tree doesn’t really seem that far-fetched, but yet, somehow it is ?

No, this young man is probably not expressing his love for the tree. And if he is then he is doing a terrible job at it.

Is this considered a case of public disturbance? Are we disturbed? Can someone pick up the phone and claim that a man hugging a tree is causing us to fear for ourselves, he is not hugging us. In fact two friends just met in front of the young man hugging the tree and they, hugged one another.

A group of hipsters, I’m sorry if perhaps by the time whoever you are reading this the term “hipster” is suddenly offensive. Then in this case, a group of young men, with no particular distinguishing apparel traits passed by. Laughed at the young man hugging the tree, and kept walking.

Are you still reading this? You must know by now that this is simply an article of some sort, of a young man who is hugging a tree.  And that is all that there is to it.
The end


A funeral is not a proper goodbye. To leave someone behind that you never wished to leave is not a proper goodbye.

To mourn, yell and, cry for someone who isn’t even there is not a proper goodbye.

When all you could hope to get at a funeral is the echoing of your cries. The merged heated waves of so many different cries of different people coming together from the same place of despair guided by the accepted customs and codes. These empty mimicked emotions and taught multiplied replicated behaviors of everyone around you doing the proper thing, feeling the right emotions, acting the right way at the proper place.

The invasive facades of pain and helplessness. The uncomfortable ominous feelings of everyone around you getting the cold chills down their spines accompanying the clear and loud massage; in case they had forgotten lately, in the midst of living, it is coming for all of us. This can happen to any of us at any time. This will happen to each and everyone of us at some time.

All of us that are here to mourn and cry with you. We are here for you. Not for long. But here. For now.


Everyone but the one person you would hate to say goodbye to but would love the chance.

She understood this

She accepted this

And she also knew, that in very rare cases. The cruel world and the controlling universe can slip and lose grip of their child; Time

And It is in these rare moments when time has broken free and is now a rebellious child and no longer unpredictable, that you are truly blessed with a gift, to have a time frame. A probable time for death as opposed to the usual harsh unpredictable possible time of death that can creep up on you at any given moment and snatch those you love away from you.

Leaving you with nothing but the funeral to wrap your head around it all; Where did this all come from? Why did it happen to us?

And even then it fails. For it is not a proper goodbye, not by any definition, no matter how hard we try. It is not a proper goodbye. You cant bid someone farewell and wish them on their merry way when they never wanted to leave, were ready or even knew were asked to leave. That is like kicking someone out the front door when they thought there were given a tour of your house. Only to find themselves outside your door.

Thrown out against their will. But you did it in such a proper polite way that you smile and wave as their image slowly disappears from outside your door. Out of your house for the very last time. Neither you wanted to say goodbye, nor did they know they were leaving. A funeral is not a proper goodbye.

But she could have one. A proper goodbye. They could both be together for one last time. On their own terms, by their own choice, or whatever scrapes of free will time has allowed them to feed on for the time being keeping them a little bit warmer. But not too warm to ignore the knockings of the cold weather outside. Waiting anxiously to wrap its cold hands around this generous gift the rebellious child has carelessly granted them both, thinking there are no consequences for a good deed.  This rebellious child who is nothing but yet another tool , another misunderstood necessary evil with no free will or saying in anything . Yet is always to blame. Deemed the culprit, Put under a microscope, dissected and tossed aside unwanted, unable to be reached long enough to hold on to. Ungratefulness and complete disregard at the times and occasions where time truly tries to grant us a gift of kindness begging us to seize it. For it doesn’t have to always end the same. But time, can never be given credit for any act, for as long as it lives and denies us the perseverance of itself. Time is a hideous vulture feeding off of us. Time is so selfish for it doesn’t think of anything but itself. So it keeps going and going to preserve itself to itself and no one else.

So we have learned , silently and individually to frown and shake our heads when we are yet again faced with the  misbelief in any sort of kindness, and any act of love stemming from outside sources that we have no control over. Can never touch but are to believe that it takes pity on us at times. In its own pitiful way. Perhaps even the most hideous vultures can at times surprise us, or so we hope. Maybe we have the power unbeknownst to us, if we are no longer there to be fed on, maybe we can control time. In our own pitiful destructive way.

But they felt differently this time, they felt they were given a gift but they also knew that time can’t stay generous for so long. It is not in its character. And its time will too come when it is forced to politely smile and wave as it closes the door behind them. just like everyone and everything else, time is trying to survive here.

So one thing was clear; time was of the essence

They had to act fast. They had to act now. They had to love one another so purely that it transcends time and space, erase everything they thought they learned and believes in, so no one can ever force them to leave one another when they don’t want to. No one.

He had given her permission a long time ago to do it. She cried, stayed up all night and pondered the very nature of life. She knew of, but never thought would ever have to face its inevitability. The inevitability we all know of. Including her. But refuse to embrace. Truly embrace and be free.

Time was of the essence and they had to act fast. He wanted and demanded a proper goodbye. A goodbye with him in it waving back. Having the closest thing he can get to an act of control. Appreciating time this one last time. And being at peace with life and how it turned out. If not entirely indifferent. Entirely free. Left to enjoy this last proper goodbye.

He had had set the time and place. Every single detail was planned accordingly. From their very last dinner to their very last choice of songs together to dance to.

It was all on their terms. All according to them. They decided when to say goodbye. How to say goodbye. And most importantly, whom to say it to. Surrounded by only those who matter in this goodbye. The two of them. To be left with one at the end of it and another one at peace. Peace they don’t know of but there was no time not to take time on its offer.

They didn’t tell anyone. No one would understand anyways. Or maybe they would need some time to do so. But time was of the essence and frankly, no one was needed to understand it. They have come at peace. And that is all that there was to it.

It was so simple and efficient; they were to have a lovely night. Lovely dinner. Intimate dance. Hold one another. Go to bed. She were to hand him the pills. He would take them all. They would lay together. And that was their goodbye. That was his way of control. To lay there with her by his side as he knowingly drifts away from here at his own funeral. The funeral he was the first guest to attend. He was around for. Or for as long as he was granted. With the one and only person who truly deserves this proper goodbye.

And so they did. They had dinner for which she couldn’t even taste but jammed down her throat at times forgetting that the faster she eats her food the faster the night comes to an end. And so when she remembered she slowed down, hiding her hands under the table to hide the rattling sounds of the fork and her shaking hands against the plate. In those fleeting moments where she thought of anything else. She felt like screaming. Like punching the walls and flipping the table. What are they eating, why is this happening? But instead she slowed down to delay the inevitable. Just like a child who refuses to go to sleep. Begging for one more hour, one more hour before the next time he opens his eyes it is time to go to school again. She chewed slower and slower. While he was done long before her.

They danced together, through which she couldn’t feel her legs. The music was fainting at times and then coming at a hurling gush at her. There was no rhythm to be found in the dances of goodbye. When the only thing she wanted was for time and both of them to freeze. Going entirely against the very nature of dancing. What dance is that where everyone is to stop dancing?

He told her how much he loved her. Which only made it worst for her. How much he enjoyed every second with her. Which only made her weaker inside. It was their time to say goodbye. And these were some collection of seconds she loathed with him deep down. But it is control he wanted. And a proper goodbye they needed. So there was no time to express loathing.

He told her how much it was all worth it; this adventure we are all forced to take kicking and screaming and at times enjoying, only to be faced with the unpredictable inevitable end. Did it all make sense? Can it all make sense? Our reasoning, if whatsoever, is a living paradox. Masked by denial and selective memories. But we should all somehow be thankful for it all. Being thankful is always the proper way to go about life. Or so we are told.

He even tried to further explain how lucky he is to be with someone who gets it, who allows him to do it on his own term and, be brave enough to be there for him. She knew she should be happy granting him this gift, for one last time. But she didn’t know how to be happy. Other than smiling, hugging and kissing him. In his proper goodbye.

No one was shutting the door behind them. He was the one walking the lobby, grabbing his coat and heading to the door.

She understood it all. She knew she even believed in it. It was all that there was to it.

It was going to happen. For all of us.

The time was here. It was going to happen. She knew all of this except for one thing. One thing she had to venture alone. She couldn’t ask him or anyone else; and that is whether she should keep smiling or given in, break down and cry. Every move felt calculated except for the ones that left her trembling inside/ the ones that were the most important in this goodbye. The ones you can read on her face. And he was looking at her.

Will her rejoicing at the very last time they have together make him yearn for more times and laughs for which he will never have? Or would her true feelings and overwhelming need to scream and cry, these true feelings that are truly tearing her apart, these forces that are brewing inside her, the same cry for help that was on a loop in her head like a broken record “someone , somewhere do something. Please.” She yelled inside to no avail, would these cries for help make it all harder on him? Was she selfish to even consider being true one last time to him, at a time like this? All of these agonizing debilitating forces she had to endure alone or risk sharing them at the cost of making him sad and helpless in the face of what is to come. Of him leaving her behind like this. Maybe he was even sadder than she was. Maybe he was in worse pain than she was. One would assume so even. But this was the one time they would not allow themselves to be together at. They can’t be true together, being truthful takes a lifetime commitment for which they didn’t have. And at retrospect does anyone?

These were all questions she couldn’t ask him, or anyone else for that matter. Ever.

Unfortunately there is no handbook on how to empower yourself in times of being powerless out of your control. When the only option you have is to embrace the helplessness that you are at. There is no handbook on how to assist suicide someone you love dearly. For their own sake. For it was only acceptable to leave them wither away and die sick and vulnerable resembling nothing of their true selves. No one anyone, including themselves, can recognize.

That. That was alright. That was by the books. That was the right thing for everyone around her, and consequently forced to believe, or say so about herself as well. For it was the way we have always done it. We would even go as far as taking someone’s life away had they tried to deny someone this prolonged painful and undignified process that they begged not to endure. For that was the dignified answer to preserve the sanctity of life. Regardless of how undignified it was to turn out.

Yes. Life is ever so precious that we are willing to kill for it anyone who would dare spare other’s its injustice, the inevitable and, at times merciless crush that they are begging to be pardoned of now, other than later.

That was unacceptable. We would take your life away had you, and the person dying deemed it necessary to act in another way that would yield the same results but faster. Less painful. No, that went against nature. That makes people uncomfortable, so you sit there and suffer. Don’t desperately ask for anyone to help you simply bring the “then” to a “now”. And don’t even try to rationalize it. Your death is coming, one way or another so we better make sure everyone else is comfortable. The ones that aren’t going through it. But may be affected by it. The ones that are living.

But she found that unacceptable. So she had to pay the penalty of going through it all alone. Give him the proper goodbye he’d been begging her for. And deservingly so.

They were in bed at last. Her hands felt so cold, yet she was sweating profusely. She grabbed the bottle and handed it to him.  But just before he could grab it. For a split second the thought crossed her mind; they could have another 5 minutes together, he is not dying undignified in 5 minutes.  They can be together for 5 more minutes. But can she be so selfish and pause this moment? Was he terrified of this moment even more than her but was powering through it for the last time ever, and these 5 minutes would only bring him more pain. All she knew that 5 more minutes would’ve been nice. Perhaps even 10. But would they have spent it counting every second in silence. That was not her choice. That was not the time for her to be selfish with him. Nor will there ever be after this night. The time to be selfish was long gone.

He grabbed the bottle, took the pills and just like that they laid there together. His last words to her were to close their eyes and lay together. She did for a few seconds, then opened them, trembling with fear. Crushed with pain. Her chest felt like exploding. It was only half past an hour, for which felt like 5 times that, if not more. Half an hour before she forced herself to lift her head up and look at him. And he was gone by then. And that all that there was to it. It ended for them.

A funeral is not a proper goodbye. But it is a convenient one for those unrelated to it. Those who are living, those who matter. For now.

There laid a woman with a body next to her in bed.  And the clock starts again for her. A new chapter. Nothing has changed for her but everything. Time is nothing but predictable in its own unpredictable nature. And at times can be generous too.

Life is cruel because we refuse to give in to its nature. If you think about it life is so honest; It promises us one thing and always delivers. The problem we have is constantly trying to predict the unpredictable and refusing to live and consequently enjoy a proper goodbye. Then we turn around and cry for being denied it. Woe is us, our backs against the wall. We are falling apart. How did this happen to us. As if we didn’t know it happens to all of us. We are in total disbelief lets gather around and try to make sense of it. Doing the proper thing at the proper time.

A funeral is not a proper goodbye. Not for those mourning, and definitely not for those gone. But for the masses who don’t have to deal with losing their lives just yet. So they want the comfort and the convenience they are promised of its existence having endured millennials . They want the masses and they want the unity of emotions and sympathies, repeated conducts and reassured values. So they can keep on living apathetically, even though they were going to regardless. But those who are gone. They have no saying in any of it. Even if they get to have the chance. At rare times.

And we mustn’t say this. Mustn’t Talk about it. Believe it or, preach it. Never dare to act on it, not even to comfort those begging us to be spared being used as a comforting tool for those who are living after them to make, what amounts to a mockery out of their lives. When they are not even around for this so  -called, paying of respects and honoring of memories.

To have the chance one last time to determine their goodbye. That is too much to be asked. That is a lot to sacrifice. No one is accustomed to this level of selflessness. No one was taught this. It wasn’t written anywhere thousand years ago . So it has no present value.

You see, this can’t happen because there is a proper way to deal with things to offer comfort for those who don’t have to deal with these things. But can claim ownership over them. And this way doesn’t serve you, or the dying ones. But serves all of us who aren’t dying, yet.


They needed a proper goodbye. Or as proper as it gets.

The end.