She was so excited about death, so excited to not be in person form again, to be matter that was considered lifeless by people standards, but more alive than most things. Her corporeal body was just a journey back to a more original existence. If existence happened in stages, she was going back to the beginning, much like the way a computer program no longer will function once it has served its complete use. She was not one to linger around when she could be more useful elsewhere, there was no point in lingering, ever.

The spring skies would be green, green like the color blue that it was a part of. The skies would be so blue, that the eye could not contemplate the hue, could not see it, could barely even know it. The skies would be full of seemingly quiet messages that to her were clearer than day, because they came from the dark, unobstructed by light.

To progress, she had to go back, to relive all those moments before, before the pain, before the emotion, and when it was all nice and calm and the waters no longer swayed but waited for life to begin. Love itself filtered through her diamond heart, she embraced it, and it became stronger. Those who walked into her life were embraced, they had come to visit her, to spend time with her, to go home with her.

Time itself was irrelevant, a journey that lasts an eternity does not heed to the idea of time, and her dreams began to disappear. She was her dreams, so when she lived, she didn't have to daydream or hope, because that's exactly what would happen. She was no longer what was happening, she had taken the limelight for centuries and generations. Others had stepped in, and she watched with admiration as they also grew, but more importantly as they joined her not only in her house, but on her journey to death. She was no longer singing, she was no longer loving, she was existing. More ancient than love, more ancient than dirt, more ancient than the sun, she was a cold dead rock in space who would eventually become light again. For now she enjoyed the calm and welcomed those that came her way, her journey was going well, and she shared her stories with others. It was the only thing she could ever do. It was her stories that had created the light after all.