3.08.25: Death

I don’t really think about death that often. I know it’s inevitable, but it still feels distant—like something that happens to other people. When I look in the mirror, I still see someone young, someone with time. I feel good, healthy, like there’s so much left to do. But then, every once in a while, I get this quiet reminder—a new wrinkle, a fleeting ache, someone my age suddenly gone. And I remember: one day, it’ll be me. Not in a morbid way, just a fact. Life keeps moving, and so do I. For now, that’s enough—until it isn’t.