Wanky title about life and death

Our very existence is poetry. Words are such flimsy, fleeting labels for the majesty that we experience every day. Imagine being forced to sum up your entire life and that of those around you with a single word? It doesn't do it justice. My thoughts are so fluid and yet upsettingly disjointed as I hurriedly tap away at my phone's touchscreen in the hope that my digit can keep up with my mind. I haven't slept yet, but that isn't unusual for me these days. Another analogy could be to a symphonic piece. Ever sound you hear makes up the concerto of our lives. Each breath, whisper, scream. Everything left unsaid adds another dimension to the music entirely. Body language is the conductor; those minuscule movements change and warp the melody. A loss of life is like a single string snapping on a single instrument amongst millions. Not enough to ruin the song, but loud enough that it startles and jars the musicians and instruments around it. The ripple of loss spreads like disease but the symptoms are different for each person. We try to catch up to the beat, and make up for the loss of an important part of the orchestra, but ultimately the sound is emptier because we all know what is missing. Never to be replaced. Each instrument, each word, each life is unique. There will only ever be one in the world, and once that one is gone, there is nothing quite the same to fill the hole. However, they still echo. Aspects become intrinsically absorbed into the ones closest. Footsteps in the sand, if you'll forgive the overly used term. And to coin another whilst I'm at it: you're not truly dead until there is no-one left to remember them. I strive to pass these on, so that when someone close to me passes I may help their legacy. I think I may stop there before this becomes even more of a rambling mess.