Tomorrow isn’t.
The more I think about it, that is the biggest lie that people seem to live by. That the fact that all of the days of their existence somehow promises them another day. This long game of flappy bird was always going to end.
By somehow postponing the questions about our mortality, we our always shocked by death. Instead of being grateful for the number of moments that we’ve strung together above ground, we seem to think that there is some sort of promise to live to old age. We count backwards from seventy or sixty, instead of forward from zero.
We can’t be thankful for today if we expect tomorrow. If we put stock in things that don’t exist, there is always the possibility of being wrong. And tomorrow does not exist by necessity. Not for me. Not for you. Not for the universe.
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