I’m not dead yet. Spinning crystals sing in the wind and the leaves gather in groups like friends on the playground. It is quiet, almost forgotten. Is it so difficult to die? When I am so high up in the sky?
I’ve been here before; lining the edge; so pure yes and no seems here. Distractions? Yes, a whirling ocean of distractions compete like desperate longing souls, hoping to be set free. I am choice maker. Shall I set myself free?
I grow weary. I cannot see. The vision I had was gone and the muscles I used are withered. I am almost the departed now.
I am the choice maker. Still.