It’s strange to think that after everything, when it’s all over, you just quit. Your light simply goes out and you are no more. What I find saddest about that whole notion is all the questions left unanswered when we die. Nothing will be solved. No one will tell us what it was really all about. How we did. Worst of all, we’ll never find the answers to all those nagging puzzles that haunt us.
We think of life as having a beginning, middle, and end. But it doesn’t. It either ends abruptly or trails off. Either way, there are so many loose threads left dangling.
Our lives are the briefest of moments; they pass by like a dream. There’s no second chance for those who fail to grasp it. Such people simply reach old age and live out the rest of their days in the hollow depths of remorse, with nothing to hold in their hands to show that they had lived except the dried remains of all that should have been—the discarded husks of their dreams.