The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.
Mark Twain
In my teenage years, the desire to live almost vanished from my sights. But I kept going- Why? Because I always felt like I was missing something. I wanted to know what I was missing before I couldn't anymore. So I kept going.
And I couldn't sleep thinking of it. I couldn't sit still worrying about it. I needed it so badly, even though I didn't know what exactly what it was that I needed. Then the dreams would come. So many of them, night after night, a different setting and plot. They were so vivid, so real. It almost seemed a reality.
But then as soon as they got exciting, the rush of them would flood my head with ideas- the adrenaline! But they stopped as abruptly as they had started.
And now, in the time I'm closest to death, I have the most desire to live. It has been almost 7 years since the dreams stopped, and I've found what I was searching for so frantically all this time. But with one graceful movement, everything I've tried so hard to grasp, would all be taken from me. So I am not sure whether or not this is where my story ends or really starts to begin.
