What will you do with this life of yours?
Make something out of it? Something is so many things. Which one is it?
Age will outlive you. Grayness will take over your life and hair color. Wrinkles will leave your clothes and impugn your skin. Dreams will turn into failed expectations. Disappointment will take over from hope. Compromise will rule over chaos. What will you do with this life of yours?
Turn it beautiful. With? Your answers and questions, and words. Yes, words. Words carry some weight. But how much will you change your life with mere figments of imagination given form with sounds? Will your words give you peace? Then you are easy. No point talking to you.
Those words. They will get you people. People will ponder and wonder aloud at the expense of your words. Your outburst will be their umbrella. You will be comforted by that thought. You will make more words to satisfy them and you, more for you. You will turn to those people with hope and anguish. You will call them your own. You will fall into an easy sleep and dream and remain in that limbo. You will fantasize and garnish that limbo with your words.
But what will you do with your words? Sell them and buy a house? What will you do with that house? Set up a world and invite people to revel in it? Then what? Die with a last glimpse of the peeling paint that you fussed over so much? What will you be able to do with your death? Mark a tombstone and leave with an uncertain hope? A hope of being remembered and remembered?
What will you do with that life of yours?
