So aware am I now of the constant risk to life
A fragility that’s causing fear to ripple through me
So much so that I don’t know how I lived in such parity to my necessities
Now I find myself obsessing
Constantly I am aware and unsure how life so often goes on
Furthermore, those that live do so seemingly without fear of the ever closing only inevitable
Fears existing within the confines of existence itself and not the ceasing.
I think, though, that it may not be death that I fear
For that is certain, but the potential spontaneity of it
That without a clue or a warning or even a backing track or an audience
A life that feels so full can suddenly dissipate
How do I come to accept the literality of ‘everything is temporary’?
Surely there’s a right to mourn what will once be lost forever.
Love will cease
The laughter
The meeting your eyes that crinkle
The only way I cannot cry is to temporarily forget
I still hope the waitress catches me in my emotional moment and finds my tenderness attractive.
Maybe to avoid this fear, I could spend my whole life in the temporary inside the temporary
Where death will not do us part because there is no one for me to part from.
They ask if I’ve become more aware of my heartbeat recently
Yes, I say
Every day
Not because it beats faster, but because I know what it represents
Though they look at me as if I’m not making sense
But what I want to say is how can I not, when I know that when that’s stops so do I,
What you’re asking is ‘do you ever make sure that you’re not about to die?’
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