If I die,
all of my beautiful clothes
curated carefully,
die with me
What a waste. Of money, I add
If I die,
all of my unfinished work
waiting patiently,
is never born
What a waste. Of energy, I think
If I die,
all of my online presence
compiled exceedingly,
forever lives
What a waste. Of time, I write
And if I die,
all of my fading memories
stored in things,
are never to be reborn
What a waste. Of you, and me
Ana Jovanovska