Life, what are you?
Because a 19 year-old someone I know was taken by cancer, I had to write something for him.
Death, in its purest form, is the end of an existence. Yet, neither can it be considered opposite to life, but is a phase of life, a conclusion to life, the last segment of the process called life, as it is an epilogue of a novel—still a part of the story, only, the very last part. Yes, yes, those who still live are crafting their individual, unique saga every second of time, but no one had ever fled from the responsibility of writing an epilogue to their tale. Though sometimes, there will be something else that will grab our quill and parchment away from our grasp, some inexplicably faceless identities that could change the course of our own story to unpleasant, distant shores…
Life is one of the most natural phenomenon the world ever have, and so as death. But what is death that could be analogous to tragedy? Is it a natural occurrence still? What is death that instead of being the final twist of one’s story becomes the abrupt lack of a story to tell? What is life that has been unnaturally crumbled down by odd entities floating in the air until it became specks of dusts in the wind? What is life corroded by an illness until there is hardly any remnants of life left to a young creature who is still gasping the last breaths of life? Just when he could have crafted soundly the epilogue to his beautiful story, why would there be a celestial intervention that will unjustly shatter his story—that has yet to reach its climax—to unmendable shards?
Questions. Unanswered questions. Life mysteries. Unsolved mysteries. Answers. Can someone give me the answer?