Serendipity

I had a conversation with my therapist the other day — one that, in hindsight, made me understand the depths of my mental state.

We were talking about death, and I told her that if I were to die, I’d hope there wouldn’t be a funeral. Just let me die in whatever peace I had left.

She asked me why.

“Because at the end of the day, I loved those I loved. Others don’t matter. And if those I love feel like they didn’t love me enough — then so be it. Live with it.”

Death is an eye-opener — a sharp, unforgiving clarity that strips life down to its bare bones. It makes you realize how much of this game of life is just noise.

Death is the start of a new life — one that ends before you know it. Whether the end comes soon or fate drags it out longer than expected, you quickly realize how lonely it is.

To be rejected by silence — maybe that’s what death really is. The unsettling quiet that follows, the absence of sound, the emptiness where life once was. Maybe death isn’t painful because it’s an ending, but because of how silent it becomes afterward.

And maybe, in that silence, peace finally reveals itself.