Life is delicate. We take it for granted yet it can tip so easily. One unfortunate encounter. A soaked driver, a weary cliff, an adventurous mouthful.
What would be your legacy?
What did you achieve, what is it that deep inside makes you proud? How many big or small victories? For each of those, much remorse, how much regrets? How much unsaid, undone, unforgiven? Will your merits atone for your sins or will your soul overwhelm the feather?
How much unfinished business? Would there have been a difference in completing what you undertook? What is it that was truly worth your time and energy? Did you spend any on it?
How will a friend, a vague acquaintance, a sibling, your neighbours or colleagues describe you? What’s your afterglow, which impression of you will remain in their mind? How many different person will you have been, how many did each of them know?
When your next of kin step in your house or flat, what will they find? The book you were reading, the game you were playing, the clothes you wore the day before. Perhaps your perfume will still linger in the air. They will find your muddy old shoes, how much washing up was left in the sink. Will they finish it up for you? How much will the objects you own tell about you? Will they be kept religiously for memory, used for what they are and gradually lose your name, will they be thrown away to ward off the pain?
Say you die tomorrow. What will be left of you?
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