How are you? Please don’t be upset that it’s been so long since we last spoke. It’s not that I don’t think of you—I think of you often. But I’ve had nothing new to share, and that’s why I haven’t written. Please don’t be cross with me, dear friend.
I hope your health has improved since the last time we spoke. Truth be told, I don’t often write to check on you because I catch glimpses of you on Facebook. You share your old blog posts there, and I see how you continue to nurture your love for writing. Your mind remains vibrant and alive, even as your body has grown frail. Perhaps one day we’ll all come to such realizations, but for me to do so, I’d need to live a very long life. And honestly, I’m not sure I have such longevity in me.
I used to wonder, what’s the point of living too long? What meaning is there in clinging to life with a weakened body? That was, I now realize, the arrogance of youth speaking. Now that my body begins to slow, my mind grows calmer, my thoughts are fewer, my memory fades, and my senses—sight and hearing—diminish, I find myself loving life more deeply. I want to hold on to it, to cherish it. It feels as though I want to live another hundred years, even if all that remains of me is my breath and nothing else functions. Even then, I’d want to live.
And why, you ask? Can you tell, why?
Your friend,
ghetufool
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