The precious ones also have to clear debts. It is always painful and quick, they come and go. Mysteries alone hint at what must have happened. Holding life so sincerely, the precious ones look no different from the rest. Tip toe-tip toe, crafting the time in hands, breathing the air as rationed, meeting the eyes as destined, the precious ones partly remain aware… the end is near.
Must it be so devastating, so random, so sudden? The precious ones acknowledge death wholly making it inconceivable for the others.
Like a quiet walk in the garden full of flowers, playing and making friends, acting the monologues, reciting life, the precious ones draw the curtain on their own.
Without walking a step, without eating a morsel, without knowing the ties, without seeing the whole world a precious one said goodbye just in seven days. Her eyes looked at bliss even after her body turned cold.
Glorious soul, seven days old.
Is this about butterflies? 🙂
Could be.