Black Paint

How much longer will it take until I decide to let go, I thought breathing heavily in front of the old, medium sized, Tibetan statue. We all hold onto life so desperately in the face of are eventual deaths, yet are existence seems so trivial. All of us clinging to life, I find it nauseating and I see traces of it everywhere I go. I was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and so I find myself reflecting on my life or rather the collection of moments that pieced together should form a resemblance of a life and I can't help but feel that something seems to be missing. It almost feels as if I was never alive in the first place, because I really can't recall my life in it's entirety. I'm only able to remember it in fragments and not even whole fragments, but sporadic and jumpy fragments that don't seem to add up. Like someone who starts watching a movie in the middle and then never truly understands what it's about I find myself confused at what my life has meant and where it has taken me. The only thing I can be sure of is that relatively soon I will die and that nothing really means anything anymore and maybe it never meant anything in the first place. This life sickens me and I won't be forced to live another second then I have to. That being said there's something about dying that leaves me paralyzed with uncertainty, a sense that there's something I need to accomplish before my death which I'm unaware of.

THIS IS NOT FINISHED