May all this living—the kissing, cursing, singing, sighing, frothiness, and loftiness of it all—love us madly until we are beckoned by time to slip into a darkness more comfortable than our clothes. May our scars and blemishes be jewels in the afterlife. Our shared stories, a way to cure ghosts of their lonely roaming. From the trickster spirit that flickers séance candles to puffs of smoke, to the hallowed and haloed spirit that gathers living hands to prayer, may all souls never be bled of their dignity and ease. When comes that day we untether from the human breath, may our memories be more wondrous than wounding.