an autopsy.
when i die, i want to have wrinkles. the kind that come from laughing too much. i want to have a less than perfect waist-line, one that says that i enjoyed good food. hopefully i’ll have something to show for my education, at least a decent hair cut. i want strong arms, the kind that can hug those i love. i hope i have poised lips, a pair that haven’t been worn out by gossiping. i want the soles of my feet to be rough, the kind that show i had to work, because otherwise what will my life have been worth? but my hands, i hope they’re soft and delicate, as a classy lady’s should be. i hope my wallet is empty, my bank account, my purse, my house too, that i gave all i could. i hope my shoulders are relaxed, because i carried no burden against anyone. i hope my hair in thinner, that i lost some in the struggles of life. finally, i hope my cause of death is a heart-attack, because my heart loved to much, many… that i was too in-love with life, experience, humanity, to possibly live another second.
