If death comes to the best ones then there’s a question that’s on my mind.
What’s carries the balance, what trade would speak of a life well spent? What thrill, skill, or family filled would satisfy in an aged ledger. What’s worth falling into a grave’s square jaw. Looking down the maw of an open barrel. Or if not cut short, what’s worth the slow draw and drone of days spent--forgotten in the bustle of a thousand other three-meal weekdays. What’s worth giving myself over to the longways slit of a knife, what’s worth a life. Is there something out there that I can spend it all on?
I’ve done a few things, jumped a few rings, and life goes on. Time is always taxed at the same rate, regardless of state or status. But as I look around at what I’ve bought and what's been put in my pot, the thought of what could be and what’s not comes unbidden.
The opportunity cost of anything is everything else. Resting is not running and running is not resting and I wonder if I should be in a 5K or watching Saturday toons. Maximizing life is like trying to dodge falling raindrops. It’s messy, futile, and pointless, but when lighting flashes and I hear the sound of a gunshot, I get to running.
I know it's nothing to the world, but to me, I need a line. I need a time when I can finally give it a rest, because I find myself running like my heels are hell and if they catch my toes then I’ll burn out on the curb.
It’s really not death that catches breath, because death must either come and pass away or not come at all. The burning concerning matter is the trade and if the impact was equivalent to my falling body. What’s worth my life? On what pile should I pile up my hours, on what pyre should you find a burning fire cremating the last of me?