I think of dying a lot.
Almost every day it seems.
My mind is consumed by the thought that,
Possibly,
one day,
I will simply cease to exist.
My brain doesn't understand,
it cannot comprehend,
the brevity of these thoughts.
Not existing isn't an option, it goes against human instinct.

A part of me hopes there is life after death,
That with all the possible universes and timelines,
We can simply switch from this one to the next.

The anxious part of me,
the largest parts of me,
panic at the idea of having no air or sun or life.
Nothing, not even awareness of the absence of something.

As empty as I am, or have been,
I still fight.
I fight to stay alive and to experience all of the wonderful moments that exist in this life.
I want to travel to unknown Italian islands and see the way the sun sets in Thailand.

Why am I stuck in this bubble, this little corner of Earth, when there is so much more to explore?

I am afraid of dying, without ever having the opportunity to live.

Silent crier,
These words are for you,
Let them comfort you,
That’s what they’re meant to do,
This trouble that engulfs you,
Won’t last forever,
Happy days that follow,
Won’t stay forever,
In the momentary illusion of fleeting joy and sorrow,
Look up to the sky,
Remember there is tomorrow

A peculiar smile,
Eyes bright,  
About Stephen Hawking,
I dare write
According to him,
It may be -
In another universe,
He is friends with me,
Perhaps that explains,
This feeling of loss,
In microgravity he floats,
Furthering his cause,
Selfishly I think -
After life will be okay now,
With Stephen there,
Figuring how,
An exceptional intellect,
As the world knows,
He was much more,
His humour shows,
Sanguine,
Seemingly “wheelchair bound”,
Nothing stopped him,
He knew black hole sounds!
Thank you,
The man who studied time -
I hope somewhere,
You’re reading this rhyme

Eyes on the moon,
Fingers intertwined,
A near complete, peace of mind