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Nov 2014
Someone asked me what my greatest fear is. I failed to answer it honestly. It's a loaded question. Well, in English class today we were talking about last words & how they're always along the lines of "I wish I had travelled more, loved more, spent more time doing the things I enjoy" & they were never "I wish I worked more, been more successful." We were talking about how people who live in a somewhat wild manner (drifters, artists, people who dance on the outskirts of society) tend to feel much more fulfilled than those who succeeded in, for instance, a career path they'd always wanted. I spent the rest of the day looking up peoples' last words. And I think that's it- my fear, I mean. The scarcity of it all. The fleeting moments of happiness that don't have to be fleeting. I have hands. I'm afraid I won't use them enough. I'm afraid I will use my mouth for all the wrong reasons. I'm afraid I will do everything for no reason at all. I don't want to have any last words. Maybe I want to look up at the sun one last time, see it rise and fall. I don't want to have to tell you "I love you" or anything like that. I need you to know that I do. I need to know that I did it right.
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