At the very best we can dream.

One gets old and weary eventually. I know that. Because I see it happening. All around me. Nobody lasts forever. Some of us drop dead. And go pretty fast. Without having time to grow old and weary. For others, it takes a while. Maybe even a long time. But I try not to dwell on the prospects of dying. I’d rather spend my time living. Though forever is only in my dreams. But maybe that’s the nicest part of life. The dreams. And having today. Thing is. People in love want forever. It’s not necessarily a craving. Instead, it’s an innate desire. And to have it under one’s own terms. With vim and vigor. I’m assuming that the creator has reserved such an existence. For himself. Maybe for nobody else. Or maybe it’s that the creator is just like the rest of us. And has died. And left the living behind. Until they die, too. I really don’t know. None of us do. At the very best we can dream. Imagine all sorts of scenarios. Maybe that’s the biggest and most precious gift of all. The ability to speculate about the future. About the purpose and nature of life. To give it all meaning. –Jim Broede