Closed Doors

Closed Doors

'Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark.'


Death has its perks. Firstly, well, you're dead. You don't have to bother your mind with the petty nuances that we, the living, get bombarded with every day. It may have something to do with you being dead and losing the ability to think, but it's a fair trade I'd say. 


Secondly, you're one step closer to Heaven. Or Hell. The latter isn't really a perk, but for the sake of this argument, let's just assume you've been a nice little human while you were alive. We're told that heaven is the place to be, the eternal party in the sky. Seventh Heaven. It even sounds like a club. 


I'm a little confused. My mind is so disjointed. I was supposed to tie this all in with a grand, emotional third point about how people only remember you once you're dead, but I realised halfway through writing this that it's not a perk when you can't even enjoy it. We're so stubborn. To me, post-humous recognition is an insult. A farce, an insincere afterthought merely capitalising on a person's passing. It's a shame really. 


I'm unsure about dying. It's not something you prepare for, is it? The fragility and balance of everything somehow possesses me to think that it's all a matter of time before everything goes awry. 


I think I'll appreciate my boredom a little more from now on.