Legacy
Her fingers traced over the leather binding of the thick volume as it rested heavily in her hands, reading the words without ever having to see them; remembering as though she had lived the story herself. Between those pages was legacy, legend, myth, and fantasy. There was truth. Love. Existence. She inhaled deeply, as though she might draw the characters into reality. Her heart ached when she acknowledged it would not happen.
Distantly, she imagined the lithe fingers that had written those concealed words, scratching away long hours into the night while the mind turned endlessly like the spinning of the wheel. She could not say that it was something of genius– not genius at all, but creation. Genius bred epiphany, but this was so much deeper; Life, the epitome of all human activity.
It was every breath, every step and thought, every emotion within the human spectrum. A universe on paper.
Reclining gently across the expanse of her couch, she opened those pages one more time and began to read.
Hey,
Men may die, but their spirit lives on within their creations. May he, and all the other men and women that have illuminated the world with their creations, rest in peace.
- César