Epiphanies On A Deathbed
The bed sheets are a certain colour, the pillow is a certain shape. They’re comfortable, well, probably. You are nowhere near planet earth, and are unaware of anything tangible. Morphine is speeding through your veins as if it’s longing to lose its driver’s license.
That was it. The words Game and Over are only a few motions of the eyelids away. Your final breath was taken a while ago. The tube, rammed into your windpipe, is gifting you a few more artificial minutes. Not sufficient to come up with an escape plan, but enough to reflect on the life you led. And what a life it has been.
You saw it all. You travelled the globe. From Argentina to Zimbabwe. Fond memories of awe-inspiring landscapes and fascinating cultures. Such a shame it was all on a screen, as you picked led lights over sun rays.
The goals you set for yourself were marvelous. What a waste that you never took the time to learn how to shoot. It’s a pity to conclude that you preferred the ever-growing bitter taste of regret, over the painful, yet rewarding, road to achievement. Ending up reaching your dreams only while asleep.
You hear voices. Most likely the nurses and doctors counting down until you’ve reached the finish line. They’re waiting for the passing of another insignificant brick in the wall, waiting for the moment that the bedsheets can be changed. It sure as hell isn’t kin arguing about a mouth-watering inheritance.
You stare at the ceiling that you mistake for a firmament. You think back of those friends you never met. That fiery love you never felt. All because of fear of rejection, fear of being ridiculed. It kept you from constructing relationships, sinking them before they were ever able to set sail.
And as you can’t recall the hands you never shook, you sure as hell remember every opinion anyone has ever had of you. Remembering all their words, forgetting yourself in the process. Holding on to grudges, letting go of those that cared for you. Now, at the eleventh hour, it seems clear that the other way around would have served you best.
A machine inhales and exhales for you. This life was supposed to be a rollercoaster, but, by god, what a crappy amusement park you have built. In a desperate attempt to flee the inevitable, you look around you, but there are no refunds. You spent all your time, now you are about to pay the price.
Ah, yes, how you were going to make it all better. How “tomorrow” would have been the day you would have been different - only to postpone once more. Failing to realize that you were able to make that change at any given moment.
It wasn’t necessary for it to be tomorrow, or the next Monday. It was never necessary for that moment of change to have a certain symbolical meaning. It could and should have been that very moment that you drew the conclusion that this was not how you wanted your life to be.
Maybe it’s time to turn it all around. Although, you’re a bit under the weather at the moment. Fortunately there’s always tomorr…
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