Always in Your Heart ?
New member
Everybody dies.
There is no escaping it.
To think that one can escape death is to think that one is God. But when you see death staring straight at you, and when you hear death call out your name, and when you are forced to watch your impending demise span out in front of you, like a vain painting on the finest of all canvases, it feels as if your heart is being ripped out from under you.
To think you are ready to die is a lie.
To think that you can accept death with an open heart is a lie.
To think that you will have no regrets when you die is a lie.
Because if you are given the chance to live, just that little while longer, you will take it. If you don't, then you are only lying to yourself.
Because in the end, death waits for nobody.
Everybody dies.
I just wish I had accepted it.
I stood before the school, like I so often did, examining it from the ground up. From the ten months that I had been away, it had remained unaltered, unchanged. In fact, it was exactly how I remembered it. The roof still caved in slightly, the walls still appeared to be soaked in paint and graffiti, and the rusty gates still separated everyone from the decaying buildings of the metropolis.
I was the only thing that had changed.
There is no escaping it.
To think that one can escape death is to think that one is God. But when you see death staring straight at you, and when you hear death call out your name, and when you are forced to watch your impending demise span out in front of you, like a vain painting on the finest of all canvases, it feels as if your heart is being ripped out from under you.
To think you are ready to die is a lie.
To think that you can accept death with an open heart is a lie.
To think that you will have no regrets when you die is a lie.
Because if you are given the chance to live, just that little while longer, you will take it. If you don't, then you are only lying to yourself.
Because in the end, death waits for nobody.
Everybody dies.
I just wish I had accepted it.
I stood before the school, like I so often did, examining it from the ground up. From the ten months that I had been away, it had remained unaltered, unchanged. In fact, it was exactly how I remembered it. The roof still caved in slightly, the walls still appeared to be soaked in paint and graffiti, and the rusty gates still separated everyone from the decaying buildings of the metropolis.
I was the only thing that had changed.