Every now and then I stop and think Are my days really numbered? Is it that I won’t be an exception? Was I born too early for science to save me from death? Shocked again! Can I ever get another break? Was being born alive my best and worst break ever?

Is it that death has talent and can be used for good by helping me to see time differently, making colors are little more intense, and bringing to mind how everything is made of the very same thing and is marvelously complicated.

Is it that energy, matter, creativity, awareness, and time combine and merge again and again and eventually created my ride, the human animal? Is life the perfect condensation of time?

Does knowing the death of my ride is coming for sure, one of the things I can believe in? Does reality look on not waiting for me to pay attention to it? Is reality hidden safely away behind the clankings of my monologue?



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