When I died I did not expect this,

a life rich with experience and animation,

should not have an afterlife of emptiness

world without space or time in stagnation.

But yet I exist within this void,

where nothing else can be.

This is not a wish of fulfillment Freud,

Descartes says I am still me.




But what am I?

this narration?

a soul in isolation?

trial and tribulation,

death and creation,

are over.

and that is okay.




Because if I exist,

then I am missed,

and memory stays true,

shaping me and you.

Instrumentality resisted,

I always have existed.

I love myself.