The universe was exploding, each particle away from the next, hurtling us into dark and lonely space, eternally tearing us away from each other – child out of the womb, friend away from friend, moving from each other, each through his own pathway towards the goal-box of solitary death.
I am afraid. Not of life, or death, or nothingness, but of wasting it as if I had never been.
I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.
A child may not know how to feed itself, or what to eat, yet it knows hunger.