This cannot be the end



This cannot be the end

because people

are not just bodies,

not just limbs,

not just bones and tissue and skin,

not a collection of cells,

not just a sequence of genes.


Because the heart

is not just a drum

that beats out the tune of a life.


Because a life

is not just the body

that contains it

this time around.


And the soul

barely even notices these things

as it passes through,

as it crosses our paths,

brief lifetimes,

with a nod.


But we notice.

Those of us still contained

within these bodies,

still defined

by our genes

and our words

and our deeds,

still tethered to our paths

by hearts that beat.

We notice when you pass.


But regardless, regardless –

and no matter what box they put you in –

this cannot be the end.


Because I still have words

to describe you.

Because we are all of us magicians

and we can conjure people up

in our hearts.

Because you defined me, in part,

with your part in my life.


Because a life

is what you make of it

and I will make yours last,

with my words

and my deeds

and my heart,

with a nod

towards wherever you are,

until our paths cross again.


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