When we first started our lives we were empty books. At the end, perhaps we are the same. When the memory dwindles and is gone. Thousands of days or years pass by. How can we be remembered? Our belongings may be passed down through generations, but eventually they just become remnants of a previous way of life.
I not trying to be melodramatic about this or emotional. I’m just contemplating my place in history, a short blip in a continuous spectrum of time. I’m trying to grasp as much of life as I can for as long as I can. Continuing to take an interest in the world and the best of humanity. I hope you are too.
Mallaband-Brown 