In my high school chapel sits a piano that marks generations upon generations of adolescent girls who have traipsed through its sanctified walls. My name is scratched into the piano lid,right under my cousin’s…because I could. Mostly to leave a legacy; to prove that I was here,that I indeed existed,and the only thing that can etch out my memory on the sands of time-or wood-is,well,fire.

Everyone wants to leave a little bit of themselves behind. Hence children. choke I attended a funeral service the other day that was remarkably enjoyable. Dude who died was young,but the family was so strong. Making jokes,the whole shebang. Some guy said ‘People don’t leave this earth when they’re ready,or when we’re ready.’ Wise words,man. I have a fear of the finality of death. Hey,no one said phobias are rational. Worrying about it isn’t going to make it go away,or make me feel better,but I do it anyway. Like,that’s it? It’s over? We’re done? Really? And I don’t even see it coming?

I’ve often wished I lived in a fantasy universe where when you’re born,you get your birth certificate and a death card,telling you when you’re going to die. Honestly a little preparation time would be nice. Finish up unfinished business and whatnot. Some people die virgins,you know.

I want to be cremated. My people have a tendency to overdo the whole mourning-while-feeding-the-entire-village thing. In fact,I have half a mind to conduct a funeral service now,a wake while I’m…awake. What’s the point when I’m dead? I mean,really. It’ll be an even better celebration of the life I have lived…and when better to celebrate it? Fishing for compliments,you say? I say,practical and useful self-esteem building while I can still hear you. Potato potato.

Live because you can,while you can. There’s never a guarantee,only a guarantee of an end. Nicki Minaj- Everybody dies,but not everybody lives.

RIP Sid.