Mortals think that death comes upon us swiftly— sometimes with a sign, seldom without. When the truth is that we’ve always been vanishing. From the minute we were yielded, we have a confined number of gasps and smirks and starts and flashes to live through and to breathe for. I think it is the amplest that we spend them sensibly. Death is one of the only real things in our memoirs, but we rarely discuss or even recollect about it.
Thanks for passing by and Godspeed! :)
May the force be with us.