Dying to know

When we go do we feel the cold?

The cynic that resides in me wants to be made a lair. It begs to be shown to be dower for little reason. With ever good work and kind, caring action it shrugs its shoulder with the heart of good loser. “Oh well. Better it happened that way.”

But it cannot deny the self-cynical. The “harharhar” that points inward as only we can control its prodding, on a good day. It is not depression. Depression is a failure to accept reality. Reality IS to the self-cynical. The joy in being a fool for the bad made false is welcomed. Wanted. Depressives reject the good even when it affects them. I am joyful in both Realities successes and travesties as the world then continues as expected. Good things happen and bad things happen. Our reactions to them are where the mettle is formed. Single instance forges of the moment forming frames for the marvelous or malformed events in our lives.

The End. Not of this entry, but of the person writing it is not near- as far as I know. But my parents. They are closer. So close that it makes me quiet at times. I know they love with every cell of their bodies all of us, the kids, grandkids, and great-grand. When they leave, I will be lone. Selfishly the time afterwards will be harder due to this alone state. A triple fear then presents again in that selfish staring point of; Me being alone, them being gone, and them leaving. Even typing this makes it all too apparent that I am having trouble just saying that will happen. “Leaving” and “going” standing in for the obvious. You know it. I fear it. But it is what will always be until the technology changes that fact or God sound the trumpets or both.

We know we are dying to know.