Where along the way did death happen? When did I enter the afterlife?

The transition is smoother than they tell you. The fear, the avoidance, the need to extend life. They’re largely unnecessary. Reality is kinder, if a bigger liar. You don’t see it coming, but also, you don’t see it coming. 

The only way you really know is when you realise that no one hears you. Or sees you. But who cares about that; you were never much to look at, nor was looking at anything ever that meaningful, except for maybe the sight of artists engrossed in their art. Singers singing was beautiful and painters painting was beautiful.

But all other beauty was an illusion. Were you an illusion?