"I'm going to die," he told me.
"If I die, can you bury my body in the ground? I don't want to be cremated." He looked into my eyes. This was the first time he had spoken to me so seriously since we met.
"But, when people die, they are forced to be cremated, right?" I asked, "Why don't you want to be cremated?"
"I think that small space is so scary."
"But you are dead."
He didn't speak anymore, but silently helped me straighten my hair. Under the bright afternoon sun, I saw a glint of light flashing in his eyes.
Can people like him cry?
A collection of short essays, it is recommended to be paired with the song of the same name.
Purpose: Essay