Realisation

Death.
Not the opposite of life.
But more the absence thereof.
Yet, personified, it lingers like a pungent aroma. A sweet smelling odour.

As time tends towards the positive infinity of reality,
it dawns that time is merely the slow,
burning catalyst that brings forward the
inevitability of death.

We therefore spend each and every single day of our living, dying.
And maybe that’s why we are in such a haste to grow and to live out our youth.
Because instinctively, we accept the predictability of our mortality.
And more so the unpredictability of its happening.

We understand that,
the more life we cram and congest,
into the time we are permitted,
the less dying we have left.

So we are willing to take risks.
Make mistakes.
To reach the mortal high. To fill a void.
But soon a Newtonian Eureka applies that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

We soon begin to pay the price for our actions.
Dance to the tune of the piper.
The concepts forced upon our youth go out the window as life strikes with the severity of a tre-mor,
and we are sha-ken in our foundations.

Some recover.
Some don’t.
But we are all wounded in equal measure,
leaving scars that may never fade.

Death.
Not the opposite of life.
But more the absence thereof.
Yet it defines our existence somewhat, as we all strive, not to cheat the inevitable,
but to make the most of what little, or plentiful, time we have left.