Dying is not always loud. Sometimes, it's a quiet unbuttoning of time — the body folding itself back into silence. Breath slips away like a whisper into an empty room. There's a heaviness that settles, not just in the chest but in the air itself. For some, it’s pain and struggle; for others, it’s release. The dying often see things we don't — faces in corners, light behind closed eyelids. It is not just the end of a heartbeat; it is the unraveling of identity, memory, and presence.
