The Futility of Existence

There is a problem with life. A big problem, it's prone to failure. Anyone can die. Anytime. You might not even know but there might be a biological time bomb inside you, waiting for the right time to go off.

The things we take for granted will cease to exist once we cease to exist. What we leave behind might not be enough. All life is like a poem, even when it ends, it's always unfinished. There could always be one more verse, one more rhyme, another cryptic puzzle wrapped in words.

But there is never enough time. The clock ticks for all of us. No one is safe.

So I ask, why the hate? Why aren't we more afraid of the end? Someone could walk in right behind you as you read this post and slit your throat, ear to ear, with an ivory handled straight razor and there is not a single thing you'd be able to do about it. You'd not even be able to finish reading this post.

So, whatever you do, be afraid. Cuz the clock ticks for all of us.

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