Like a skeleton, the dead tree is simply that which has rotted away. Although we know the tree rots, we don’t pay attention.

We overlook its grotesque nature.

It is also the same for the do not look for a corpse in the cemetery rotting away.

Why?

Because to state the existence of such dark realities is to tell ourselves, it is real.

And the result is to only think of our own appending doom.

But if you could look, would you?

Would you gaze at the corpse, remembering the beautiful person they were, and love them for all their putrid stink?

Could you look upon the broken visage,

The decaying flesh, breathe in the rotted scent, not with revulsion but with love?

Would have courage to love them still?