What do we do when we get to heaven? do we bask in the light, and feel our feet softly bounce up against the clouds? do we meet him, and everyone else around him, do we find the ones we lost and perhaps those that are yet to be in the first place?
Are we happy in paradise? Was it worth it, in paradise? will he explain that he made mistakes and we assumed he meant them? Not sure. Don't matter. What we will get, what we will find, it doesnt matter. What we give, what we can give, is what matters. You are what matters. you, and all around you.

I will destroy everything that tries to harm you. I will echo your laughters against the walls of the world. i will make you a seed loaded with energy, and you'll explode in beauty and freedom on the soil. You don't exist, but you will. You aren't, but you will. And you'll stop being, one day. People will mourn you. I, though absent, will mourn you too. I love you. I love you. I love you. And you will love so many people, you'll love everything, and you will hate it all. You'll be in pain, like I am in pain, like your father was in pain. But it will pass. Like he passed. Like we all pass.

You'll see, we are fleeting, like vapor. Like fumes from deadend leaves, torched by the sun on the driest day. I am nothing. So you are nothing. But we came from something. And even being nothing is being.

The sun sets, but you can remain awake. The world ends, but you will end before it does.
It doesn't matter.

And that makes you a God as heavy as existance. As defiant as the noises that dare wake you in your crib.
You'll know. You will. But it won't matter what you know. It won't matter what you don't. What matters is that you were. That you will be. That you are. Even if it's emtpy. Even if it's void. You get to be. You get to breathe. And eat. And laugh. And sleep.

You exist.

You are.

I love you.

My God, I love you.