/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.11198578]

>Before my operation – I knew I had cancer – I thought I only had days, a very few days, left to live, and I desperately wanted not to die. I was suddenly seeing every leaf, bright colours, a bright sky, the vivid grey of tarmac, the cracks in it with ants clambering about in them. ‘No,’ I thought to myself, ‘I need to walk round them.’ I pitied them. I did not want them to die. The aroma of the forest made me feel dizzy. I perceived smell more vividly than colour. Light birch trees, ponderous firs. Was I never to see this any more? I wanted to live a second, a minute longer! Why had I spent so much time, so many hours and days, sitting in front of the television surrounded by piles of newspapers? What matters most is life and death. Nothing else exists. Nothing to throw on the scales.

>I have understood that only the time you are living has any meaning. The time of our lives.

Why don't we start living a life, anon, until it is too late?

[Anonymous No.11198612]

>>11198578
Why don’t we?

[Anonymous No.11199243]

>>11198578
Perhaps trying to drown your mortality under shallow modern culture would stop you from acknowledging it. It takes a strong person to reflect upon incoming doom every day.