A Touch of If OnlyMature

If only, if only.

Sometimes I feel like I can actually sense my humanity slipping away--the cinder block that's sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

I once read that if one does not fear death, then they fear life itself.  But I don't think that's necessarily true.  I don't fear death, and I most certainly don't feel afraid of life.  Who knows if my heart is lying to me, though?

The heart is such a treacherous little brute, willing to feed you any lie you'll believe just to get what it wants.  It shouldn't be trusted, and yet we fall an ill-fated victim every time.  Is logic of any more use, though?   What good can a clever wit and a good mind do, when no one plays by the book any more.

The rules are no longer rules, but merely guidelines-- a suggestion some old wise fart provided for the few who took the road less traveled by.  But I'm getting off track here.

Suppose that I didn't care if we all lived or died.  Does it make me any less human to prefer the company of a book over that of a real person sometimes? 

Am I any worse off for dreaming of a better world?

The End

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