When we waste the now worrying about the things that lay ahead and regretting what fell behind, we are not living. We simply become spectators of our own lives.
Someday, we will just be stars in the sky. We will just be empty space. Someday, we will stop being nobodys and become nothing. Someday we will be stories, we will be words. Someday, nobody will remember what we looked like. Someday, all of our photographs will fade away. Someday, it will be as though we never existed.
(But we did. And we did it well.)
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