Death in my mind isn’t a finality. There’s a continuum: it’s like at night, you go to sleep and in the daytime you wake up, or whenever you wake up, and it’s a new day.
“With slow, reluctant feet, and weary eyes,
And eye-lids heavy with the coming sleep,
With small breasts lifted up in stress of sighs,
She passed, as shadows pass, among the sheep;
While the earth dreamed, and only I was ware
Of that faint fragrance blown from her soft hair.”
Frederic Manning | “Korè”