breath with death
Death comes with an inner stillness. Your breath matches your ribs, thoughts match your skull, you smile and melt and become one.
Death comes with an inner stillness. A moment of peace that lasts forever, time suddenly disconnected from you and unimportant.
Death comes with friends. Death themselves, of course, whatever form they take for you, smiling or serious or amused or quiet. You did it, their smile says. I’m so proud of you.
Death comes with friends, your loved ones, your ancestors, your whakapapa, your pets. Souls come to the call, to bring you on over. Death comes with transport buddies.
Death comes with comfort, with loneliness, with peace.
Death comes with the smell of dirt.
It comes with memories and hopes and dreams and hand holding.
Death comes from food you’ve forgotten and drinks you loved, that smoothie you thought about for way too long.
Death comes with the smell of dirt, waiting for seeds to pop out, real and natural and normal. It’s just dirt, y’all.
Death comes with the feel of rain, with the breath you take along the sea, the sting of salt and the joy of forever.
Death comes with the touch of sun, leaves rustling in the wind.
Death comes from letting go that harm you’ve spent years healing.
Death comes with all the little moments of evolution, of joy, of letting go.
Death comes, and waits. It is ready. They are ready. It’s time.
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geoa
geoa.geer @ gmail.com
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