اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ
We go to bed every night leaving this world. Leaving it as if our coming back here is certain. With unfinished work strewn across our desk. "Tomorrow," we assure ourselves. As if our words carry much weight. As if we have control over anything. As if we control everything.
What would happen then if you did not return? Who would finish what you started yet never had the guts to finish? Who would pick up the pieces of your sorry life? Who in the world will carry you away? You and your duties, obligations, responsibilities.
Or would you rot in that bed. Forgotten. A missing piece no one misses, another stone in a sea of rubble. And I wonder...what would I find if I cleave that stone in two? A jewel? Probably not. Most likely this: a blackened core.