What Happens When You Die?

I sit at the table.

In my newly redone breakfast nook. Asking myself the same question over and over until the question imbeds itself deep into my flesh, slowly eating me from the inside out.

What happens when you die?

Now this isn’t a “normal” question.

I know this.

But that’s alright.

Because I’m not a “normal” person.

And this need for an answer to an unanswerable question has left me immobile.

But that’s alright.

It’s not like I had a life.

So I sit and I wonder.

I wonder if I’m insane.

I wonder if I’m insane for wondering if I’m insane.

And there I sit, totally confused.

And then my confusion leads me back to my question.

Or more like my obsession with my question.

And then my obsession with my question leads me to more questions.

So I stand up, walk into the kitchen and make coffee; trying to lead my focus in a different direction. A more positive direction.

But I know that’s not possible.

And while I stare at the coffee, which is trying its hardest to brew as slow as humanly possible, my thoughts find themselves thinking about him

I’ve tried so hard not to think about him.

It hurts too much.

It feels like a thousand tiny needles stabbing my heart.

And then my thoughts of him lead to more questions.

And then I find myself back where I started.

what happens when you die?