Something about life lately has me thinking constantly about my own mortality. Maybe it’s a rite of passage once you hit 25.
The idea of what happens after I pass. What’s next? Darkness? Where does it all go? Heaven, hell?
The idea of losing all my knowledge. Where do all my ideas go? My memories? Small things, like what brand of cologne to buy, my family recipes, which songs I really like? Will anyone ever share these things?
The idea of losing all my work. If everything goes away in the end, what matters? If I will lose everything I’ve worked so hard to build?
What’s the point? Is there a point? The meaninglessness of it all is horrifying.
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