I’ve always had trouble internalizing death news of certain figures that I never personally knew, yet that have touched my life in some way. I hardly understood what that meant. Maybe it‘s denial, maybe it’s the fact that I never met them in real life, maybe it’s how I simply choose to deal with heavy news. But then this week I’ve been so engrossed in a Netflix show that’s based on a famous book series, and I’ve heard/read every possible review about it that came my way. They were all really beautiful, especially those that referenced parts of the books or discussed something about the writer himself who passed away a few years ago. And it hit me. It hit me how, all along, it hasn’t been so much about me refusing to believe that those figures have died. It’s rather that, in some way, those people still feel just as real to me. They’re still alive through their art. Whether it’s a movie they’ve been part of, a painting that’s nothing short of a masterpiece, a song they’ve brilliantly composed, some of their words that they’ve left behind, or even a building they’ve so beautifully constructed; the different forms of art they used to express themselves still manage to carry pieces of those artists in ways that make it hard to believe they’re actually dead. They can’t possibly be dead and touch all those lives so deeply. They can’t be dead and mean that much to people they’ve never even met before. We often wish those artists were still around to see the impact they’ve made after they parted this world, yet it somehow feels like they are around and can feel it. They can feel their art touching hearts, and while they might not know it, that’s probably still a reason more artists believe in the importance of what they do. So they won’t only continue to stay alive through their creations, but through the things their existence happens to inspire along the way, too.