Notes on One. I have read one part of this and I daydream about the day I die. Heck, I always think of the day I will die.
I don't look forward to it but rather expecting, waiting, until it comes and I go.
But...
Dying in itself is more than the mortification of the physicality that makes up a being. As sense of anticipation as sharp blades of Graeae glides through the air and snaps the very string which is you. Dying is indeed melodramatic, almost picturesque. Almost.
But...
Dying is happening...to everyone, to anyone. Dying is happening as we speak.
Dying is when you fail to get up early in the morning to make your pot of brew. You go to work, silently cursing yourself for the wasted 30 minutes that could have been a perfect brew.
Dying is when you ignored to read the traffic signs and got stuck on a dead end.
Dying is when you 'live' too much of your monotonous, stable, and secured existence that you forgot how to drink, fuck or even inhale.
Dying is when you lost a memory of someone you don't want to forget but you did.
Dying is losing yourself. Losing a sense of who you are. Losing yourself for something untangible, earthly, money, work or for someone you deeply loved.
Dying is every failed opportunity that time took. That when time passes, it's like death already succumbs.
But it was never time's fault. You let time take it from your hands.
Then I asked myself...
Am I dying?
Then I smiled.
Thank you for this, writer.
This is beautiful.
*Had this in my draft years ago (don't exactly know for how long) and still don't know why I haven't published it. Years passed, a pandemic hits and this sensitive topic is more resonant and real than ever. Knowing death and having a glimps of it just made this post and the words that inspired it even more special. ~Zhee. May, 2021*
