I never wanted to be remembered
The art of having someone speak of me after I die, after I am no longer, does not amuse me
I do not yearn for permanence
I do not care anyone knows my name
People say they want to be somebody when they already are breathing
People say they want to live after they die
Are they even living while alive?

Permanence does not amuse me

When I remember staring into her eyes, hoping that she’d see her life before her, she saw nothing
Her cold hands were once warm, and she felt nothing
Softly, pleading with her to stay, she heard nothing
When I remember feeling the warm liquid of her blood on the tips of my fingers, she was no longer

Permanence does not amuse me

When I die, she will no longer be remembered
She is only living within me
When I die, my last breath will be for both of us
She will be extinct in her presence and in her abandonment
She won’t be in the air we breathed
She won’t be in the ground
She might turn into the soil children play in, and then
she might be gone
She will erode into such little pieces that even the flowers won’t benefit from her minerals
She will just be words on this paper
Until this paper is no longer

Permanence does not amuse me

A routine for the living means nothing to death
Everyday there was morning, every night there was night
Everyday I worked, everyday I came back
Every year there was a winter and every year there was a summer
Life was full of minutes, hours and seconds

Permanence does not amuse me

That day I woke up and I saw that death meant nothing. I walked onto the busy street and watched the people hurry by, scurrying to their routines. I saw the children laugh, the people frown, and cabs zoom by. I walked along the same sidewalk she had walked. On the same pavement her feet had touched, and she was no longer. No longer walking, no longer sitting, no longer running. She lay on a wooden plank, until she was no longer laying.

Permanence does not amuse me 

I never understood why people get so attached to objects or places
What is the point when we all are gone?
Why cry when something is lost?
Why laugh when something is found?
I do not understand the utter pain we feel when we lose something that never belonged to us in the first place
We live on a lease
Rented for a lifetime, then returned after death
Yet, when something as beautiful as life is put to an end, all that remains are objects
Without souls
That mean nothing
Then, we walk by, look by, pass by 
I do not understand people who try to buy their permanence

Permanence does not amuse me 

I never wanted to be remembered
I’m not upset that one day I will never feel cool water slip through my fingers or the texture of fruits on my tongue
I am not upset to forgo the winter’s chill the chatter in my bones or the summer breeze in my hair
I cannot change what is
I am not upset because I do not own myself
I am not upset because if I let myself become upset

I will let permanence amuse me