see it come and go

I realize writings take place between coming and going.
I correct myself...
I realize my life takes place between coming and going.

the constant statement of temporarity goes in my case a bit like:

I am not staying long.

In the temporarity of our staying on the Pacha Mama the shakesperean obsession took over me.

Somebody is now gone. We sat on the table and somebody pulled out a few notes she once wrote. There they were, there she was with us on lunchtime.

I am now trying my very best to comprehend, and fill that space with all the memories, sensations or thoughts that go into an emptiness.

A morning unplanned epitaph. I just sat to write about something else, but you came in first...

You'd be amazed of all the things a person leaves behind, that cannot be counted, that cannot be read.
You'd be amazed how long we stay after our death.