Sometimes, I get to think about the dead, and I find myself pondering, “What if we are so wrong about them?”
What if they are the ones in better places – laying pity on the living, but we live in hell, wishing not to die?
What if the ones who die without good deeds aren’t meant to rest in peace, cursed to wander around the earth forever – waiting for a day of final judgment.
I imagine them hitting transparent walls around us, calling out our names – trying to reach out to us, to warn us; but all around the average living being, it’s the usual peace and quiet.
The living probably may not know his dearest stands right next to him, in agony, rejection, slowly fading away – on a failed mission to reach out to the living soul.
What if there is a wandering soul trying to warn you every time, but you are not listening?
— From a piece of my writing pad.