Living, breathing

Future, Journal, Personal

As Night fades into day,

I sit, pondering all life’s days.

The ones I lived, and before me,

but mostly the ones for when I’m gone.
They will be much like the ones today, with sunlight and shadows,

but I won’t be breathing, living,

This is our tomorrow.
They say that we can’t concieve

a day where we aren’t living,

But I can do it now, plain and simply: I won’t be living.
I can say that without sorrow,

without the agony of mourning.

People pass away, I could tomorrow morning.


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