I had written this a few years ago while I stumbled around my quiet house hold, preoccupied with explaining my life and interactions with inanimate objects through an objective, omnipotent narrator's perspective, rather than my own. All in the name of becoming a better writer...
Everything is an art form. To reach perfection takes time, thus, the greatest art we can hope to create is at the end of our lives. We are at the peak of talent when all previous experience has led to that point.
Sacrifice is also necessary; in sacrificing all life, our art becomes the pinnacle of all experience...
I still agree, looking back on the remote scrap of paper, now. And this is something rather new and relatively unrelated:
Think not
to dwell on dreary things
Since all we are and know
are to one day be lost
as with our memories.
Not to worry
what may be left behind,
for all those left with it
are all too soon to follow
what has gone before.
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