Last evening, a co-worker of mine passed away. He wasn't terribly old, was a big man, who lived a full and varied life. He touched many places in my home and had a fond nickname for me.
I'm looking out my window right now, at the sky that's rising through those gradations of colour that I love so much. I've got quiet time to myself right now. Tomorrow and the rest of the week will be hectic.
Just before sitting down, I felt again that gray that makes me uneasy. That sense that my life just keeps going and I go through the motions without feeling ecstasy just being alive, the way I used to.
Perhaps I simply don't understand the purpose of my life. I help people, sure. And recently, I've been told how great I am, how supportive. Why do I feel somewhat bland?
I think of how much longer I have to live sometimes, and it scares me. Because in the upcoming years, there could be so much that will hurt me. But at the same time, I love being alive. I just don't look forward to the days with excitement, but rather with the thinking that I have so much to do despite being so tired.
And I think of my friend. He's gone. Soon, he'll be ash. So quickly. A once imposing form, reduced to a bowlful of dust. And the world goes on. I think it's this way that the world can just go on that's unsettling to me. I'm glad that it does so...many others deserve the chance...but I struggle with the fact that people pass on and are forgotten; that a life that was so important is no longer noticed.
I'm not sure what to do about this feeling. I hope that I'll feel more than this soon.
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