You dream, sometimes, a real and very darkening life, not unlike the real thing you call real that is your waking day. The day of yourself, the moment of your awakening.
You are not alone, ever and never, in these dreams. All around you, men and women you have known in your tired and aging days are working and living so humbly and harshly, firesome and languid, making plans and taking everything from you. Your days, you begin to realize, are not your own.
You are overcome by these dreams and labor with them. You fall weak and wanton in the face of this inevitability: you will die.
And you must, so. Always. To die, and be remembered, as we all must so.
Swallowed up, consumed, depleted, destroyed and so very, very gone.
This is a moment in one's life that one must not forget. This is a moment that will truly define who you are.
Alive and ready, or ready to be dead.
Ask yourself if you are ready, and then, knowing the answer, begin to question whether or not what life you have lived holds any meaning whatsoever.
If it does not, then best to drive your stake deep into the ground and hold here. Morelikely, just wait.
