After she dies,
She’ll leave the world.
She’ll leave the world with what?
A vacant memory of her voice. A whisper of her name. A dusty thought lost and tossed away.
Time will keep running and stories will keep slipping.
People will be saying...
Who was she.
People will say they can’t remember her. They can’t reach far enough into the depths of their minds to grasp it. The tiny little detail she planted there years ago. Maybe they can’t. Or maybe they won’t.
Either way, she’s gone now. She left nothing behind but a body.
After I die,
I’ll leave the world.
I will be more than the ground we walk upon.
My name will be hidden, but found. The inside of a book. A signature in the corner of a photograph. Scribbled across old scripts, recently framed.
My words will float into the future... and drift into open minds who want to learn.
I will drop a bag full of original thoughts and ideas, and somehow I’ll know that my hard work will not be forgotten.
I will never truly leave the world, I will be there every time you think of me.
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