Many people predict that death is like sleep, but it's not. Death smells of rain and sunlight. Sunlight that seeps through the crystal-like droplets to form colour.

Everywhere.

It shoots across the clouds like a splash of paint. It's not a rainbow — rainbows are faded and dull. But this is rays of eternal light, blinding everything. There is hope, there is reason in the colours. They are unfathomable, and I see brilliancy.

I see the ability to be forgiven again.

~Angelica York, Complicated Love