"Like sands through an hourglass, so are the days of our lives"
Lines. You learn about them in school.Not just the normal ones you think of, but the ones in geometry, the ever-extending ones. If they don't go infinitely in both directions, their line segments. I guess, before, my life was a line. It seemed like it had always been there and always would be.Now it's a line segment. Temporary. There was a time where it wasn't around, and there would be more time where it wouldn't be around.
Terminal. Fatal. Inoperable. All words that translate to: your screwed. The question that's been haunting me, though, isn't; what comes after? or how will it feel? I know what comes after: I'll be burried in the ground, six feet under and all that jazz and how it feels won't matter for long. What I wonder all night ad all day is: If there was some miraculous way for them to save me, would I want them to? Would I want them to salvage this sore attempt at a life and give up the relief of not having to plan for the future?Would I want to go back to the daily grind, the mundane shuffling through that is everyday life? Perhaps the only way to find peace is to rest in peace.
So, I guess I know the answer. I know there would be no fighting for my life, no "I'm too young to die". Only fighting to make it all end sooner.