As I lay dying
Open the windows and doors. Welcome the wayward breeze, biting cold, tendrils of sun, or beating rain. Worry not of the elements as they caress my motionless body. Discomfort, after all, is for the living of which I am still yet a part.
Talk as if I am myself. Even if I don't answer. Argue and disagree as we are wont to do. If you offend, I may curse you silently. Wordlessly. Or if you bore, I will likely ignore you altogether.
Weep and I will weep too. Laugh and I will laugh with you. Pray and I will remain solemn. Joke and my lifeless countenance will become that of the jester.
Place your hands on me. Caress my fingers. Cradle my chin and pinch my cheeks if the moment so moves you.
Fear not the skin of the dying. It remains sensitive even after the rest of the body has long forgotten.
Invite my enemies to peer down upon me. To dispel the last remnants of venom or perchance to regret. My family and friends too. Even those who I have long forgotten or have forgotten me.
Open my doors for all to see.
Except for the indifferent.
They are no longer welcome in my home.
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