Death is nothing more than life reversed

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Poem:

In the cold fog of a quiet anniversary night,

two figures stand before marble that holds a name once bright.

King Halo lays dark roses with pride worn thin by time,

while Rice Shower clutches a photograph and soft pink blooms,

her voice breaking over memories of laughter now gone.

They walked with heavy steps to the place where eighteen years ended,

and the silence between them feels denser than the mist.

Al final la muerte no es más que la vida invertida—

In the end, death is nothing more than life inverted.

What once ran forward in colors and endless mornings

now flows backward through black dresses and quiet sobs,

yet the love that remains refuses to turn to stone.

King’s careful dignity and Rice’s trembling grief

still reach toward the living presence that shares this hour,

waiting for words that might turn the inversion once more

into something that can be carried, not only mourned.

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