There is a strange tragedy in the way the world often works.

Sometimes, people do not hand you your flowers while you can still hold them.

They wait.

They wait until your voice is gone.
Until your mistakes can no longer offend them.
Until your presence no longer challenges their ego.
Until your silence becomes permanent.

And then suddenly, you become extraordinary.

“Such a beautiful soul.”
“They deserved better.”
“I always admired them.”
“They were truly special.”

But where were those words when the person was alive?