When we die, will we really dissolve into nothingness? Silence? Eternity of peace? Can something real just fade away like that? Will it merely take seconds, hours, days or never?

A subject so delicate, yet so beautiful. It makes me want to swim in the not-know-it-all-at-all. But the lump in my throat warns me constantly, of the danger that might be. It could be the ugliest thing, or perhaps just mundane, but there's no way to know.

Like there is no way to know how a soul can sit prettily and take ugly beatings from its surroundings. An overused question, a million years ago. "How can something so beautiful be surrounded by such ugliness." Perhaps, the ugly is seen as beauty in time, and the real beauty fades, slowly into nothingness.

Slowly, but not surely. There's no telling yet what awaits at the end of the journey. If beauty ever makes it.

There, a noose is ready, hanging on the ceiling.

But this time, it's for the ugly.