I was thinking the other day.. and I got this thought in my head that life is short.. but it's a lot longer than we think. I suddenly felt like my entire life would only last two days, and I had just finished the first one. There was so much that I wished I had done, but didn't.. and it hurt... physically.. to know that I was in any way unsatisfied with my life so far. In the same split-second that I felt that, I also felt an intense fear of not making the most of my second day. Like having this realization that the first half was wasted.. STILL wasn't enough to get me to take risks in the second half. I was absolutely ... rattled. I essentially "woke" from that thought and considered it on a larger scale.
What if we only had one more year to live? How different would things be? What would be important to us? Would we still sweat over the bullshit.. and create drama out of boredom? Would we waste any time? Would we get anything done? Would we give up on the people we knew and find others less difficult? Would we try harder, or simply give up - when we faced the impossible? Would we even face the impossible? Would things seem more or less so? How many of us would wake up each morning, with one less day to greet, smiling.. hopeful that this one would bring a new chance to make the most of our short span? And how many would sleep in.. letting time do her handiwork, while inevitability creeping in.. silent, murderous and terrifyingly bold? How many times would we ask for one more day when we found something worth holding onto, and how many faces would stand on the edge of "the end" and fall regret-less into whatever-comes-next? Would any of us be the same? Could we be the same?
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