I have written about joys lived and unhappiness suffered for many days and years. The pages break time down. Line after line ties my body to ink on bound paper. The spirit travels by moving forward and backward between today and the past. I hope to not have to choose with my last act of free will between becoming a drop in the ocean or remaining myself or vanishing into nothingness. Some sort of combination depending upon my mood sounds nice. To not have sunsets and the laughter of a beloved surrounding me on a calm evening seems like a loss. Will I care? I hope so. And, after all has been said and done, I hope that my cares blend with the cares of others in some peaceful and decent way.