You Talk, i listen.
That’s the way this works.

You ramble and You monologue,
while i keep my lips pursed.

i wonder if You’ll notice,
i haven’t said a word..

But you simply entertain Yourself,
and i remain unheard.

People tell me to live like every day is my last.

But that’s not what life is for.
Life is for believing. Believing that you will have tomorrow.
Believing that tomorrow isn’t just a prospect, but an imminence.

I can picture every horrible scenario, every improbable tragedy:
Car crash, heart attack, kidnapping—
But if I’m always wondering if I’ll meet my death tomorrow,
I’m not living at all.

Life is slow and arduous and not everyday is extraordinary.
Most days are forgotten.

But the ones that aren’t…
the days that you’ll think about when you’re really dying,
they only have value because they’re numbered.

And even though we spend our lives reflecting on
and recording those sensational memories,
I’m grateful for every useless day and hour and minute I had.

Because I love living like every day is not my last.