One evening she was late. She should have been home 30 minutes ago. At first, I was glad because that gave me the time to finish my game. Another 30 minutes later I started wondering where she was. She probably decided to stop by the market and buy a few things for dinner. She did that often.
I looked at my watch. I remembered that my clothes were all over the bedroom, she would be mad when she comes and sees it. I went to tidy them up and on my way, I looked through the window to the street below. It was already dark, the stoplight was blinking indifferently, and I was trying to recognize a particular silhouette among all the others. I shook my head and told myself there was nothing to worry.
I sat in front of the TV but I was only nervously changing the channels. And looked at the clock.
It doesn’t matter if you are afraid to die. But you must be afraid of death. Afraid, of the fact the life ends. With no reason, with no cause, with no notice, with no sign. The only end which isn’t a beginning. The only thing in nature that is really gone instead of just changing states.
Life. Is. Lost.