Hello, old man, time to go. You've done all that you could. Made a family. Made friends. Made enemies. Made a career. Gained respect. And, at times, lost some. But your time has come to an end. You've aged gracefully. You've gotten everything you could from this body. And this mind. The hereafter is calling. It's a quiet request. No celebrated goodbyes. No fanfare. No big news. Just slipping away from the here-and-now, to the ether of memories. You've done what was asked of you. To live. Mostly well. Sometimes imperfectly. But who among us should judge? And does it matter at all? Memories will live on. Until someday, even those will pass into oblivion. Still, you were here. You left an impression. That impression will be visible in other people. And when they pass, they will leave their mark on still others. Like the continuous collapse of an parade of dominos moving towards the horizon. The previous one falls, knocking down the next, and the next, and the next, until it's impossible to tell how exactly the chain is moving, but we know it is moving. Ceaselessly.
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