today i woke up with the most beautiful images of my life flashing through my head. it was forced, raw, primal and awkward; but it made me happy for that fleeting moment before my brain comprehended that all was but a dream. or what similarity dreams have with thoughts, in that they were purposeful, not random.
then i sat in bed, and thought of this (and this is right now, at this moment). i realise something so beautiful (this collection of memories, much like a slideshow) was actually cold and uncouth and ultimately ugly, because they were mostly not of my life - but my recent life, spent dwelling and contemplating of a future so uncertain, that i had forgotten the beauty of prior years. truly, if all is lost, then i have these years to blame.
much like every morning, i check my mail and between the mundane and bothersome ones, there is one of (but not from) the dream of my life. this must be a (if not the) root of evil, which makes me realise that i am not happy because of all these beautiful images, but i am just apathetic - the images were only because i have finally witnessed the final moments of my lived life. i am dead.
i wish i literally was. every day.