In memoir

If you could mummify my body, what parts would you scrape out first?
My brain to keep my memories?
My hands to ensure all talent is stunted?
My feet so I may never travel in the afterlife?
My heart to shut out all regrets?
My lungs to ensure all sighs end?
You.
You I wouldn’t mummify. Wouldn’t wrap up for preservation. I’d burn you in the pyre to ensure all of earth eventually breathes a part of you.

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