When Victor entered the afterlife, he kept on writing.
He wrote stories
with happy beginnings and happy endings
He wrote poems which oozed joy
He wrote television shows that were hard to watch
(too many belly laughs is exhausting)
He wrote to his grandparents to thank them
for all he learned from them
He wrote letters to his parents, explaining everything he felt
(he knew they wouldn’t read them anyway)
He wrote a love letter to himself
He answered it
Victor kept on writing
The love of his life
was also the love of his afterlife
After a comment yesterday that started with ‘poor Victor’, I realised he deserved some more words.