I’ve been dilly-dallying over what to write about “The End”. I loath thoughts of ‘the end’ when it concerns my own mortality. I ponder … is it fear? I’m unsure if that’s the right word, a dread maybe, of my own demise, the end of my wonderful life. I don’t want my life to end, there’s still way too much to be accomplished. I know I’d be a real loser if I wasted this precious life dreading the prospect of the end. Realistically that’s pointless. Commonsense prevails. Get on with life the end will come no matter what!
Deep down I dislike the end of so many things. The end of a conversation with a loved one, the end of a luscious meal, the end of a block of dark chocolate, the end of a story, a book, a movie, or a tune (at least with those it can be repeated), the end of a holiday, the end of a loved one’s life, the end of a wonderful day … the end of a plethora of things.
Ha … but if I remember graduating at the end of three years of study, the satisfaction at the end of a creative project, feeling well at the end of a painful illness, the personal well being at the end of giving up smoking, booze, benzo’s, wheat, dairy, caffeine, plus a zillion other marvellous, life changing 'the end' moments and recall how fabulous they made me feel, then I’m contradicting myself aren’t I?
So … I’m back to where I started with this prompt ...flummoxed ... as to whether the end is really the end or a new beginning?