The end of one's thoughtful life.

I complain. In writing. But I also console others. And myself. In writing. I exercise my mind. In writing. And I cultivate my thoughts. By reading. The writing of others. Maybe that’s my greatest discovery. Ever. The written word.   More so than the spoken word. I am in love. With the tangible written word. Gives me the opportunity to define my consciousness. To see and savor a thought. To store a thought. A spoken thought too easily disappears. Evaporates. Becomes forgotten.  A written thought. Proves that I existed. That I was real. But eventually written words will vanish. Marking the end of one's thoughtful life. –Jim Broede