Wonder why I wonder why?
I am obsessed with death. Wholly and incessantly, in the meantime I am ever-encumbered by thoughts of someone far away from me. I like to think some of this condition is significant of something in the least, though it is not. This much (this state of living) is dross. The odds of our existence are unfathomable, and still each day we live in such a fashion as to take it all for granted. I am a miracle, the thoughts I think are miracles, each moment I see and think and feel; are all miracles unto themselves. It has dawned on me that this sort of curiosity is the single greatest thing within me, within anybody really. Even now I have as yet failed to come to terms with my mortality– the thought terrifies me- the despair in hours like these is as deafening as it is painfully silent. To live is to lose, to live is to fail, is to fall, is to wonder, is to question, is to ache, and to age and then finally, to lose one last time. This is the lesson to be learned, to be applied to even the me