Have you felt it creeping up on you? That feeling that you cannot shake. You were introduced to it one cold morning. Since then, it has been lurking around. A stalker. Not the kind that validates your existence by devotion albeit devotion of the certifiably insane kind. This one just hangs around to put you in your place. A reminder that you don't belong among the clouds but on the cold, hard, damp ground. You keep your facade up - that bravado, that defiance. But within, you cower like a new born kitten, with barely open eyes, hiding for cover from those big feet moving around the house. It is bigger than what you can explain away. It is more frightening than your worst nightmares. You realise that it doesn't just lurk for you, but for everyone close to you. It is mortifying. Mortify - verb - late 14c - "to kill" - "put to death". The defiance makes a final stand - No, I am not afraid of death. And then that defiance obsequiously slips away - But yes, I am afraid of outliving it.
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