When we die, the materials that make my body continue. Just not in the form of me. But in the form of other beings. Other beings will thrive on us, on me. On our bodies. The larvae, the microorganisms, that feast on our corpses. Our body becomes new life. Although this specific form of a person that I perceive as myself ceases to exist, I will also continue. And I started long ago. The atoms in my body have once been stardust. Maybe they have once been part of a tyrannosaurus.