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.