I sit in my bed, thinking hard; hard about life: life, love, ideas, the unknown.

Am I afraid of being forgotten? Or is it that I’m afraid of being alone? Traveling around the world, will I ever get to do so? Sitting in an empty bed, darkness settling upon me, will I be able to make it to the kitchen?

Will my adventures be written beneath the dust mites covering the coffee table? Or will they be written on the walls of kings?
What if I don’t meet my expectations? Once dreaming, looking out my bedroom window, will my dreams come true? I’ve only wished they would, but what if it’s too late for me?

Yes, of course I’m afraid, afraid of oblivion, but why? Im one in a million in this world; how can I fathom it all?
Old wallpaper peeling off walls, are my dreams deteriorating with them? I’m one person, how can I make my mark? Will my jokes inspire others? Will my curiosity bring me towards danger?
My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations, are yours? Am I thinking too hard, too in depth? Which is more real to you, heaven or hell? Hell: is it dark, lonely, unbearably cold? Heaven: is it like we imagine, God with outstretched arms greeting us with love?

Will marks on the wold be erased, will they be forgotten? How come the marks we make are too often scars on the world? Our choices, why do they not only affect ourselves?

There will come a time when all of us are dead, no one to remember the first man on the moon, Cleopatra. Let alone, you. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it.