Incarcerated late at night...

I keep coming back here to write, because I feel a stronger connection to life, and life is just a bundle of words that add up to stories. And even tough our tales seem finite, you'd have to figure that as soon as someone else adds a word, by ripple effect, they go on forever in each direction. It's really crazy if you think about it, isn't it? A hundred years ago a man scribbled down something on a tiny bit of paper, and then he had a son, who had a son, who had me, then suddenly those words on that tiny piece of paper were part of a greater whole. Then that got me thinking ... what if we're all part of this unending scripture, and our stories start even before we are born? What if we're able to write even after we die? And all those words just keep piling onto each other until they become one? One story. One life?

People we've know since always will one day disappear - they will die and be turned into ash or buried deep withing the earth. It will happen sometime in the future. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe years from now. It's kind of magical if you take the time to ponder it. The fact that just because someone dies, just because you can't see them or talk to them, it doesn't mean they're gone or that they aren't part of your story anymore. Perhaps that is the point of it all. There's no dying. There's no saying goodbye. There's no you or me or them ... it's just us. And this sloppy, colourful, wonderful thing that has no beginning ... no end ... I think this is us telling our story. One word at a time, until we are forever connected. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think I am finally okay with the fact that you died, and all these words you read here ... this is for you and me. This is for us.