All in time

I have never been thankful for the gentle morning breeze. It's one of these things that's always been there. I've always been unfazed by it when it caressed my paper-thin skin as I headed to school.
I heard somewhere that a soul is immortal and once it leaves a vessel, it flies around looking for another. So I must have been here since the very beginning.
I heard somewhere else that people like us do not matter. We bring no benefit to the world nor do we cause harm. We cannot participate in joy nor can we prevent disasters.
It has always been like this.
I have never been thankful for the morning breeze; an element as ancient as I am.
It'll all be over in a second.
I just wish I could have done a little more, maybe cherished it all a little more.
As I lay by the foot of the weeping willow, an odd feeling wrapped me in utter strenght. It's almost as if the breeze was mocking my strange farewell. "I remain." It said "With or without your acknowledgement I remain."
Maybe I could reach out for my backpack, write down a note. No, it's too late. I have been paralyzed.
I should have been drunk out of my mind, sunken in endless follies. I should have been high out of this ethereal plane. It's quite alright, I got used to not fitting in anyway.
This whole situation reminds me of when my brother first started smoking. He got beat up mercilessly, but he still smoked nonetheless. Slowly, my parents came to accept it in waves. That was a change in his life they had to come to terms with in order to achieve peaceful coexistance.
Change remains aswell. The same mid-winter breeze that harshly mocked my untimely death will become soft when the cherry trees blossom as Spring arrives.
The branches of the tree have been dyed pure red, tainted a few moments before the knife reached my kidney. To me, that's the true crime and to me, it shall never be forgiven.
I thought I would surely make it til thirty. By then I would have lived long enough to have made a bunch of caring people who would carry my memory but not long enough to watch my body rot slowly. I guess that was a lot to ask, and it's certainly not how it works. I have always known that, so I must have been here since the beginning.
The weakened afternoon sunlight was dying out.
The enormous tree atop the cliff watched the crime unfold and in its branches and roots it'll bear the secret til the end. It'll bear a fragment of my eternal being.
He got up; terror encaged in mere human form and without the shadow of a doubt, pushed me off the edge.
Limbs scattered and skull shattered. It'll all be known and shed light on in time, that's what I liked to believe. For it was factual that Autumn births Winter, yet it doesn't mean that Summer is not lingering way over the horizon.
A butterfly had to wait for the cocoon to be torn apart.
Change doesn't always arrive beautifully. Some days, heavy rain drenches us fully, makes us shiver and fret. Still, it waters those seeds which we would have starved without.
Perhaps my death is the dawn of a new era that awaited patiently to be born.
Somewhere else, I emerged anew. A child breathing its first. A child growing up fond of helping others. When in the past, under the earth, worms fed on it. Way beneath the rotting corpses that emerge flowers, roses and bouquets of all colors of the spectrum.
Universe; exquisitely and beautifully violent for the right reasons.
It all comes in time.