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A Question from the Soul

It's an unanswered question in my head. A question that is impossible to answer in fact. But still, it gnaws at me at times. When I see the hatred towards me in their eyes. They don't care about me at all, do they? It's all really a contest of who can fit it. Survival of the fittest in its most juvenial form. The question that makes its residence in my general thought path is if I were just to... die. Just drop dead one day. How would those who had stained me feel? Would they even care at all? Who would be there to assist in spreading my ashes? And those who have stood by me all through life, how would they react? What about those who glared at me with such hatred? Would they feel remorse for what they did?
But these questions will go unanswered and unproved in my eyes. But the just of the question will continue to eat away at me, make me question who is true, and who is a lie.
Have you ever given thought to who will be there when you die?




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