To look forward on the edge of death would be to invite the imbalance that would send you over the precipice; instead look back to solid ground and find comfort in the familiar. Let your fear ground you by refusing to dwell on it—advance only when calm has built a bridge where you otherwise might have plummeted.
The Music of Life
Life goes on, then it doesn’t. Everything in between, just noise. Pound on your neighbor’s floor, or grab your lover and dance. Just don’t be like me, don’t lie in sound proof boxes, don’t tune it out.
“To be or not to be?” is not the question anymore. It’s more like “Have I been or haven’t I been?”. But as cold fingers pull me into a sweet, delicate nothingness, it becomes irrelevant. I may have been, but who can really tell until you stop “being”?
We use certain breaths to destroy, but while you’re here you should use the ones that will make others live.
If I were to die, I would be struck by lightning. There would be no time for fear, regrets or self pity. Simply an explosion of feeling with enough time for one last laugh.
I would die as I have lived, in a blaze of tears and laughter. With my head and hat held high.
Death cares not for half-truths and excuses.
And I refuse to lie on my deathbed.