The Refrain of Non-Being

My death will come on some dazzling, bewitching full moon night, or in the dark of some midnight hour. My death will arrive on a melancholy evening. Let those whose lives held no happiness find no peace in their passing.

With a heap of despondency, endless words, and a thousand doubts I cannot speak aloud, my final story will be written. May there not be even a trace of solace in its ending.

At the moment of dying, no one will ever know how much this chest has burned, in how many pieces this heart has shattered, how—worn to dust by countless sorrows—I once shot up like a fresh green tree only to suddenly bow and wither. I ask no one's pity, so mercy is no debt owed to me.

So much the world will never know. No one will know what stories I wrote on the pages of that diary, burned to ash—what unspeakable words I confessed to paper. If people knew, they would only wound... what's the use?

The starling that came to the windowsill each day to eat will wait for me. The broken-legged half-mad dog at the neighborhood corner will search for me in its heart. When people disappear, others stop looking, but they—they will search.

Tell me, will the paintings I drew each day, the songs I listened to, the words I cherished and whispered—will they miss me too? Will they grieve for me?

Let them, then. Let them miss me! The bed where I slept, the chair where I read, the porch where I walked each day—let them miss me too, just a little... Let their hearts ache in my absence. If I must become empty, let me empty myself for them to become full.

I want the streets I walked, the bent neem tree, even the stars I spoke with each night—I want them all to remember me, to miss me... everyone except people. Let them all feel my absence. People don't know how to feel; people only know how to wound.

Let me be a starling then, or that limping dog standing at the corner waiting for me day after day, or perhaps some beloved balcony.

No, no—next time let me be the vermillion in the parting of a beloved's hair, or a sorrowful melody played in a minor key. Let my entire non-existence dissolve completely in the enchantment of that sound!

Yes, one day, on some enchanting night, I will become the anklet on someone's feet, or the empty, careless pocket of some jobless lover. Whatever else, let me never be human again. A human can endure anything... except one other human.