Is that asking too much?

I have an overwhelming feeling. That I’m running out of time. Used to be. That I had time on my side.  I didn’t worry. About the looming absence of tomorrows. I was optimistic. That I’d make it out of my 50s, 60s and 70s. I’m going to reach the end of the road. Most likely. Somewhere in my 80s.  Maybe sooner than later. I’m allowing myself. To be occasionally consumed by such a depressing thought. I know. I know. I should come to terms with my mortality. And be grateful that I’ve made it this far. I’ve beaten the odds.  I should learn to die gracefully. And accept the notion that my spirit will survive. I should look forward to life in the spiritual realm.  Despite the doubts. Can’t say I’m a true believer in anything. Hey, I might not even be real. Only someone’s dream. If that someone wakes up, maybe that will be the real me. Oh, I have so very many fantasies. A boundless imagination. Maybe that’s my salvation. The way I get through life. Yes, I’m imagining all of the possibilities. Nothing is too preposterous. As long as I am a conscious, pulsating, thinking being. That’s the way I want to stay. In one form or another. Is that asking too much? --Jim Broede