If We Die Then...

If we die,
then let the world know
we were here
without asking permission.

Let the dust
carry our names
on its back,
whispered
through cracked windows
and broken fences.

If we die,
then let the silence
be louder
than all the noise
we tried to make
while breathing.

Let it thunder
in the hearts
we left behind,
not as sorrow,
but as proof
we mattered.

If we die,
then bury our pain
but not our laughter.
Keep the moments
we never posted—
the ones too raw,
too real,
too human.

If we die,
don’t speak of us
only in past tense.
We built
what still stands.
We touched
what still moves.
We loved
like fire.

And if we die,
don’t say we are gone.
Say we returned—
to sky,
to wind,
to earth.
Say our stories
slipped
between raindrops,
writing themselves
on the skin
of everyone who remembers
how we made them feel.

Because if we die,
then let it be known:
we didn’t vanish.
We just left pieces
everywhere
we dared
to live.