Sometimes I wonder if I'll be remembered after I die. I watch the memorial services and biopics and television specials and historical reenactors and I despair that anyone will ever do the same for me. And then, I remember, and laugh.
Who cares?
Bury me in a cardboard box. Burn my papers. Give my car to a kid who needs it. Delete my photos and throw my keepsakes in the compost heap. And if, accidentally, some cold summer day, you look up through the trees at the incoming rain, and think of me, don't let it be a melancholy thought. You know I wouldn't want to ruin your afternoon.
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