Where will you go when you're gone?

Your art, your talent, the music you make when you tap your foot against the floor. Your voice, and your personality. The kindness you show to earthworms and the cruelty towards your fellow man. Where will it go? Will you become dust on the earth, giving the plants your bones to form roots and gifting your voice to the wind to rattle the trees? Or will you go somewhere new? Will you find peace there, or will you find nothingness? Will you come back, utterly different, a ship of Theseus in the grand scheme? Or maybe you won't die, your story told for years in words and letters in a gene. Maybe your life will not go on, maybe it will stagnate there. Right there. The hospital bed or the ground or maybe the arms of your friend. Maybe you will haunt them, either in spirit or in memory, or maybe they will leave you behind. Maybe all you leave is the idea of yourself.