R E B E C C A
B R I L L H A R T
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
Art is apotheosis; often, the complaint of beauty.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.