I used to be much more alive. The memory is lost. Not to mention the cohesion, this life force, frayed and broken, not unfixable, maybe.

Those younger can imagine. Elders can almost remember.

I don’t have tbelieve. I can think I know.

Aging is fear. Fear is black. Death is a hole.

So much reflection, introspection, self inspection

All that I see, of me, is merely a picture of a past event

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