I do not want to die still having potential. I want my tombstone to read “Her love was torrential”.

I want my grave marker to be comprised of all different vestiges of me. I hope they capture the Festivus in me.
You’ll see!
All the things I have to do that have yet to be. All the best is still left for us to see.

On the other hand, I want my plot to be unmarked and clean. No box in life, or death, could ever contain me. They’ll all remark “She lived her life free.”

This is not a plea! This is glee. This is what comes naturally, and has been so for eternity.
This is peace. This is release. This is accepting inevitably with ease.

I want the earth around my skin to be pourous and soft.
No protecting my body purposefully with props. Shroud me only in cloth; Handspun and colorful swath. I want my presence to be lost.

I will not have died with my potential, because my love for you WAS torrential;
I will have lived every bit, with exuberance. We loved like hooligans.

And to say accomplishments are the only legacy left in someone’s stead is to discount all of life’s bountiful spread.
I will have loved all the love I have contained inside of me until I am dead.

To that end I say, love freely, go’head!

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