This may be one of the least morbid things that I have ever said. I’m quite proud of that, actually.
It’s just hit me that we are getting old.
We’re getting old, our limbs are growing weaker, our hair grows lighter as each day passes, and our faces gain wrinkles.
Life lines our limbs.
The trunks of our bodies have been rooted down to this earth, and we wait and wait and wait for the soil to run out, for the sun to peter out, for the water to dry out.
We wait. We wait. We wait.
And it may be too early to be coming to terms with my mortality – merlin, I’m only sixteen and feel that Death and I have been good friends since birth, though I have only seen his cloak (never his face) sweeping out of my life – but here I am.
The difference between fools and wise men is that fools never learn. Wise men do.
I am the farthest thing from a wise man. I don’t want to spend my life constantly reviewing every action I have made, every word that I have said, every smile I have given.
And while the wise men mumble about physics, fools embrace the world and they live loudly. They learn loudly. They swear loudly. But they are living in the present and they strive towards the future, while the wise men review and revise and think and stay in the past.
And I plan to spend those last minutes – those last years (however long they may be) – living like a fool, running around in the rain – learning, living, loving, losing, crying, screaming, smiling, and laughing.
And, when Death comes, I’ll have no regrets.
And I’ll welcome him as an old friend, and we’ll sit and have tea before he whisks me away to the next great adventure.