I didn’t agree to such a contract, yet I still choose to abide by it. With my first breath, I was picked to live, but not to last. No one knows when these living documents will eventually waste away to extinction. I cling to the night because I am so unsure of the morning, but even the days die. Receiving such an invitation is a relief for the sunny hours and then night stalks again asking the same question. We as humans conquered much adversity, yet we can’t seem to shake the burden of death, the living predator. Even with so much to lose, life can easily become a mundane gift that collects dust.
I hate that it is the one thing I will never be able to write about, a complex tease that I am both familiar with but a stranger to. I imagine it is like flying in a plane through a cloud. Feeling stagnant yet speeding through the air, surrounded by a peaceful blinding white light. Death is unfairly just. We strive to out buy it, but we can’t live without it.