It has been a long time since I was her. I stare at what had once been a beautiful, healthy body. My ghostly fingers trace the mouldering flesh wistfully. Oh, to be alive again, to feel the wind caressing my face again, to feel the joys and the pains of love, and to feel connected with my surroundings instead of merely haunting them, detatched and meaningless. Oh death, where is your satisfaction? There is nothing for me but emptiness and hollow regret. And so I sit upon my forgotten coffin, alone. The beauty of the roses my family left for me is lost upon my wandering mind.

But was life so much different than this death?