But the physical death is not impossible in the mind of the living.
Do you believe that you can be everywhere at once? Time isn’t linear, a wibbly wobbly curvy circle thing, I am everywhere and nowhere at once. Can you believe you’ve watched your own death? There’s a part of me that can see that I held my own hand as I died just before midnight (this isn’t about my Grandfather). Souls recycled in a variety of bodies, the old, the young.
It’s not electricity if it slowly climbs through your body, it’s the creeping realisation, goosebumps starting in the toes and overcoming the body when you try to talk about that thing. But I am alive.
And so is she, and so is she, the variety of those parts of me in different stages in different carcasses, a moving, pulsating organism, more than just a body, a feeling, a virus. A movement.
Dead is so very dead, and I look upon these corpses and know that the person, the one that was loved (or hated, or unknown) has gone, they went days ago, a quick quiet exit before the body completes it’s last serenade. And when you look around the words are not enough, this is a feeling, transcribed by a string quartet, or an image.
A picture says a thousand words, because words have never been enough.