Post mortem

I had a dream last night, one that some would label as a "nightmare".
It seemed like I had suffered a sudden death or so I could assume, since apparently I haven't had time to tell them to preferably incinerate me once my time comes. It was dark all around, I could feel that I was the prisoner of a narrow place, even though I could not move and the last tiny rays of light were quickly disappearing as some blackness seemed to be pouring over the cracks, bit by bit. It dawned on me (literally?): it was my burial.
Laying there, I could hear sounds...voices, cries and some of my favorite music in the background. I then started wondering who came to celebrate my death. Random faces of people that were never an important part of my life popped into my mind, one by one. "Are you here? ...And you?" Then the important faces followed. I was curious, but at the same time I was glad I didn't have to face the crowd.

Then I awoke. I found myself in the isolation of that same grave, which was my room. I did not want to face the crowd outside, all of the entities exuding a wide palette of thoughts. No matter how many feelings walk those streets, my mind is flooded with resignation: there will never be any real connections tied.
Just like at the funeral....everyone manifests an emotion, but they never understood anything about the one they are there for.
I got used to the fact that people don't see wider than they are used to seeing, in their eyes, you are what they make you in their head, and explaining has no purpose when true, deep understanding is impossible. I dare believe that, in case of that hypothetical case, you would hardly need any words, because you could just feel each other.

Then I started wondering why it mattered at all. It is all over anyway.