You stand at the precipice and wonder if the fall will kill you. Does it still hurt when you’re dead? Why does tomorrow linger on our brains and yesterday haunt our thoughts, but we have no mind for today? As if this transitory life isn’t ours, but a borrowed dream weaved with those whom we’ve meet. There is a moment of clarity, where you can see the heavens part, only for the clouds to billow past and leave you where you are. You search for something more and find you’ve lost your youth along the way along with your naivete. And the wonder of it all starts to fade, but you see with the eyes of age now, and they merely stare, for you know time will always take its course. It courses through your life, carving out aspirations, desires, and wants, but you tether yourself with defeat instead. There is only one constant, and it ticks away as your dreams dissipate into thin air while your soul grows lethargic. Were you ever really meant for this life or was this life meant for you? And still, time drums on and on despite your best attempts to slow it. The fall may not kill you, but the dread will.