Literature
Floating
What if, beyond the great unknown of death, there is nothing but fragments of memories flickering into place like a flame just ignited, memories of all the good times, all the first kisses and starry nights, family gatherings and the wind dancing through autumn leaves, all the moments that filled your heart, and all of those that shattered it just the same, all the stupid fights and good jokes and fruitful meals, all the common day sights reframed in to odd familiar beauty when juxtaposed against an eternal scarcity, all the long drives, anxious waits, and books you never quite did get around to reading, all the long nights and early mornings, all the conversations you'll never forget, and all the passing words you wish you hadn't, to each season of your life, each phase, each desire, every dream, all the people that molded you, even the ones that linger in foggy memories now, what if, when the heart is weak and the body begins to wither, when your bones succumb to to the gravity of
