LISTEN TO ARTICLESynthesized Narration • 0:00 / 0:00

The morning after, nothing will change. The sun will still rise, even brighter than it ever did. My air conditioner still hums a cold breath, My blanket is still messily done, And my assignments that were supposed to be passed still sit by my desk. My hair products are still set on my shelf—untouched. My plushies are by my side because I longed for their softness one last time. My mom will call me for breakfast. But my door will never creak open again. Classes will still go on. I imagine flowers on my desk, I think 2 white lilies should suffice. Teachers will still go around assigning homework. Maybe I’ll be the talk of the classroom. Some may show a shocked face, others knew it coming. But still, life goes on. Friends will pay tribute. Maybe even old rivals will stop by. Some will tell their sorrows, some may ask for forgiveness. But I won't be here to listen and answer them all. No one ever knew my favorite flower, so they’ll drop whatever bouquet fits their budget instead. The café I used to go to continues to brew coffee. My favorite pastries likely sold out. Perhaps my mom will order my usual. To feel comfort, to feel that I'm still here—just running late. Flowers will bloom. Though, I prefer it to be above my body. I’m sure my mother will adopt a cat. Surely my sister will name it after me. The cat purred as if it knew where it came from. Life will continue to co-exist beautifully. Grief will be replaced by life’s inevitable hustle. People will continue to adapt and grow. I just won't be here to witness it all.