12.10.02 - 7:38 p.m.
I used to think death was poetic, for some reason. And pain. It was so stupid, you know? Death and pain are facts of reality that must be dealt with. But life is what is sacred. Life and the freedom and hope needed to truly live it. The love needed to truly enjoy it.
Death and pain are not poetic; the way people deal with these things can be. The way people struggle to be free of pain can be noble, the way people cope with inevitable death can be heartrending, or uplifing, or....
My grandfather died on Friday. I'm sad, in a detached way. He was old, and had cancer. He was too weak for an operation to remove the tumor.
I wonder what happens when one dies. Sunday, I stared at the celing, watchng swirls of paint darken as the sun set. Reincarnation? I like that idea most. I love life, I love the very concept of it. Living again and again, as the soul learns and loves and becomes scarred; it seems... nice. Balanced and effecient and beautiful.
Mm. My computer had to be ghosted last night. All my writing, that was saved... is gone. Depressing. Possibly a sign that it all was bad anyway, but mostly depressing.
I'm tired, right now. I have lots of work to do.... A long essay for school, and Spanish translation. Off to it....
