If anyone knew, they must be dead. It’s them. And, it must’ve been less important for us to know. Either that, or way too important.
As a child, I’d see life as a game where dying is the last level to clear. Not understanding what came after that, I still saw it this way. Gradually, this analogy shifted from being the last level in a game to the end of a single level. Now, incarceration is barely a point here. I didn’t even know that word until college.
It is out of my reach in nodding to how I can misunderstand the way people perceive words. There is a sense of game to these words which can shift from being a joyful ride on the highway to a scary tunnel. Both, on the highway.
Humans die because the life they live results in death itself at the very end. Just like any living being is meant to die, a dying woman dies while the dying man struggles. He too dies. We live like it means to be living until our end. And, that’s more interesting to look at. We live knowing the face of end will be here one day. Thus, we dissolve to be as a part of this nature. That’s just how metabolism means ‘to live.’
Some bring this face up very close to their noses and end up beating the heads up and down, right out of it. Others, call it closer to their eyes and wink at it. But, only a few watch it’s back. Only a few die.
And, only a few breathe.