Today was the day I realized:
Everything is temporary.
Whatever I do today, tommorow, the day after, in a year, in fifteen years, is absolutely useless.
I cannot control my life, no matter how many times I try to reign it in.
The people I know will not always be there for me the way I had imagined.
Memories will be forgotten, pictures burned and torn.
My effort makes no impact on the world.
I could die today, and the earth would keep spinning.
The sun would still rise and set, and the moon and stars will be there to take her place after.
I will move out of this house.
I'll have a new bed, a new room with new walls, ready to be painted over with my hands.
My old walls will be covered with a fresh coat of white, erasing any trace of my existence there.
The wooden planks of my old bedroom will soon forget the sound of my footsteps.
The stairs will forget the weight with which I once tread on them.
And when the day comes, that my lungs provide oxygen for my body one last time, my heart no longer the steady beating of a drum,
I will be gone.
Lost to the endless plains of time.
My toes will forget the feeling of grass.
My hands forgetting what it was like to dip into paint and write my little stories on the walls.
My hair will not remember the wind, that it used to dance with.
My eyes not able to look at those who were dear to me.
My mind, incapable of recalling the melodic laugh of my spouse as it reaches my ears,
the feel of little chubby hands grabbing onto my own,
the reason I picked up that paintbrush,
or why I was here.
When my eyes shut, I wonder what will cross my mind.
I'm scared of that day.
That second.
That moment.
That moment right before I'm gone.
Would I feel it?
Would I feel anything?
Would I know?
Where would I go?
I wonder, if in that last moment, where my mind decides to give up, I wonder if I'll look back on my life.
I wonder if I'll smile to myself, or cry.
Because after all that has happened, one thing is for sure.
I am only one thing.
Temporary.
