What really is there left? Not so much, I suspect. I have probably asked the question way too many times. Isn’t enough already too much?
To do? To see? To be?
Just like that and out of nowhere, I said to someone, just today, “I’ve never been afraid of death.” Never hiding behind pretensions.
This is satisfaction. This is contentment. This is fulfillment.
Maybe I’ve finally stopped competing with everything (yet one would not be wrong that my own death will be highly competitive).
I may be exhausted. I may be trapped. I may be lost.
I do not accept that perfection is unattainable but I understand that no one has attained it. Not hedging, just easing up on myself for a moment.
I’ve read a lot about death. I’ve written a lot about death. I’ve thought a lot about death.
I’m not seeking some other life or world. I don’t need another side. It will be more than enough to just be at peace. Resting.
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