One moment you’re here, one moment you’re not.
One moment you’re a living being, with your own set of problems, qualms, insecurities, qualities and fears,
And one moment you’re just a pair of defunct organs wrapped inside cold, pale flesh trying its best to start decaying and turn into something inhumane.
Your entire life, which you built around you, formed and nurtured relationships, painstakingly accomplished your goals, suffered losses, shared happy moments and sad, went through joy, pain, love, laughter, arguments comes to nought.
As if there was no point at all.
One moment you’re talking, breathing, feeling, living and the next moment you’re lying on the floor, your lips gray and body soulless, oblivious, unaware, and inaccessible. Can you feel, then, the soft touch of the trembling hand stroking your forehead? Can you hear the murmurs of prayers around you? Can you feel the silent tears sliding down the weary cheeks of the people you loved? Could you hear her asking you to come back? Were you weeping with her, looking at her, from somewhere far off? Helpless and alone?
How can you just.. stop functioning? Just like that? As if you were nothing but a piece of machinery that cannot work anymore. What happens to you after you’re gone? Become an object that has to turn into nothingness? Your entire existence comes to an abrupt halt, and..and that’s it? And after you’re gone, are you still there somehow? Do you still linger? Do you still exist somewhere?
Or is there nothing else left except for old photos and memories? Nothing else but the thought of your face in its final moment, the peace and serenity on it, the way you were carried and flowers adorned the white cloth you wore. Did it matter, then, whatever you did in your lifetime? The things you achieved or the people you loved or lost? Or the lives you touched or the lives that will never be the same without you?
In the end, it all comes down to one thing. We all are born, we all have to live and we all have to die. We all have to become what we used to be: nothing. We all have to mingle with the earth and become nothing more than an added ingredient in its topsoil. Or is there something more to that? Maybe it is not the end; maybe it never is.
Butterflies and Hurricanes 
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