The trees whisper to me,
softly, gently.
The breeze rustles through my hair,
as if to say "Change is coming."
I look out
beyond myself, beyond the landscape,
beyond the earth, beyond the universe
and wonder...
What is death, truly?
Death of a pet, a person, of a dream?
What is death?
Is it truly an ending?
Or is death just a word we use because we have to categorize
and compartmentalize
the things that truly mystify?
The trees whisper to me,
softly, gently,
as if to say "Change is coming."
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