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If I was gone, people would notice, a funeral well attended

Tears would be shed,  regrets told in earnest

a house would be sold, possessions disposed of

not that it matters, no possession defines me

My family would gather, tell stories of my life

some would be lovely, others recalled to clarify

I was a mess.  Unforgivable flaws.

Impetuous.  Stubborn.  Hysterical.  Selfish.  Stupid.  Misguided.

These would be my legacy, the things remembered most.

After a year, I would be a mere wisp of a thought

perhaps brought up at Christmas, or Easter

My boys would move on, as would my siblings

and perhaps never talk, never meet again

because in the end, I am the only thing they have in common.

Me, the impetuous, noisy, adolescent me

which makes them wonder: do they love or despise me?

How can I compare to them, those who are so perfect.

 

Life would go on, if I was gone.

 

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