On Death

I don’t want to die inside. I don’t want my last thoughts to have a ceiling.

It’s not some religious quirk, it’s not about my soul having a clear path to an afterlife above. I just want to die outside with a gentle breeze for feeling.

I won’t mind what sort of day it is: snow-doused deep Winter or humming, heaving Spring.

I just don’t want to die inside.

It is everything.