Stop.

My heartbeat has slowed, it hasn't stopped completely, but there are moments in my life where I can feel my lungs grasping for air. I first thought the reason I felt my heart in my throat was because my heart was beating rapidly and I just now realized that my heart seems to be slowing down. It doesn't want to fight the battle of trying to survive this life anymore. My heartbeat is becoming the reflection of the death that the rest of my existence is slowly feeling.

Stop.

That's what I long for. I would like to stop in this moment, in many moments and capture these passing memories that seem to create my understanding of life. I don't just want to stop and smell the roses I want to stop and touch them, and see them, and hear the breeze blowing through the trees.

Stop.

I would like to stop living the facade of life.

I would like to sit, watch, listen, smell and know that I am not just a creature that has been woven together by random scramble. What a futile life that is! To just be nothing more than a passerby. To be nothing more than the passing breeze along a shore front. To just be a leaf that falls off a tree and dies without any regard of the tree itself.

What a silly existence! What an offending state!

So many of the same words trying to prove every movement in our being and all these words do is land us into nothing.

The common thread of our life, the final pull of that thread is death itself. We all die. What are the details of life, what are the facts, if we all die?

Stop.

Stop wanting, trying, breathing, living, dying, knowing, fighting.

Stop.

Stop finding, loosing, keeping, shitting, fleeing, sitting, standing, lying, laying.

Stop.

Stop and see, listen, hear, smell and know.

Know that you are more than random. Know that you are more than nothing.

Because if you are not more than that, you are dead.