After you're dead

You are ten years dead, but it's only a story. I was told that writing was an art. To mimic life. Art imitates life, so why do artists refuse t be alive. An artist can not live because they are too focused on what they must create. But everything has been created. It's like a story book and it's all laid out the grass and leaves and pathways are being colored in just as you take a step and the speech bubbles are being filled as you have your first conversation and art is not made because it already exists. An existence is everything.

You have been dead for a millennium now and you still haven't noticed that everyone you once knew was dead and everything your hands' once touched has been destroyed and the places you had come to love (and hate) no longer exist and you no longer exist, but you linger. You hang around this place wondering when you will be done creating the life you set out to create, but things have gone on without you. Life has gone on without you and that's okay because it is the life you set out to create and you're still going a full force. Nothing will stop you, nothing can hold you back. You've been held and held down, but that was not for you, so you hold yourself and hold your head extremely high. But for who?

Everyone's gone. You are all alone.