my orpheus

You do not become part of the Void. Perhaps there is one, but you’re not a part of it. No, you are nothing anymore.

Maybe your body will continue, for some ultimately insignificant amount of time, smaller than a fraction of the lifetime of the universe. The coffins protract it. They will put you in a box, and the box in the ground. But though the footmarks of you are sealed inside, bacteria will find its way in, and eat the flesh. And then worms, and other bugs, and before you know it… you are again what you once were. 

Your body is soil. Consumed and processed and changed, until no trace of you remains. And then, only then, can it rest. 

Your mind scatters and flies away, like fireflies released from a jar. If someone was there to watch, they might see them sinking into the sticky darkness, fading. Until, after just a moment, the light cannot travel all the way to their eyes anymore, because the distance has just grown too wide. 

And then… who’s to say if they’re still out there?

Your soul, whatever soft, fickle thing it’s made of, evaporates. Perhaps it becomes some sort of energy, or magnetism, or other mystery. Maybe another melody to be carried on the wind but never heard.

But you? No, you… you cease to exist. And, once again, it will be as though you never were.