Me, Being Open and Honest

Sometimes I feel like I am an elderly person, at the end of her life, looking back to when I was twenty-eight (my actual current age), and realizing the brevity of the years in-between. I am keenly aware lately of the fact that I will die someday, yet that truth seems surreal to me, like fiction.... And as I think about it (I can't seem to stop), I can't help but fear that when the end comes, the journey will not have been worth it. For all my yearning for solitude, I fear being alone. How is that possible when I'm surrounded by so many people?


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