A Beautiful Death

I think I was confused

when you said death was beautiful.

Because I remember I agreed.

 

But we were sitting outside

with a myriad of red and yellow leaves swimming around us

and there was a faint coffee mustache above your lip

and you were smiling with a mouthful of pumpkin pie

spilling at the corners of your lips.

 

Because this season is death

but it is a beautiful death

a death that eventually springs into life.

 

But after reading the note you left on your desk

after crying for hours over our photographs

after standing in marble silence at your funeral

I have to disagree with you.

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