d.o.a.

We begin our slow crawl to death the second we are born. Maybe that’s why we come into the world crying. Some primal instinct that lets us know that the shadow of death follows in our every footstep. We’re Dead On Arrival. Each of us has come into this world with a fixed stock of years to live, or exist, as the case may be. Every year we live, we exhaust it from our supply of time left. And what better way to celebrate this than on one’s birthday. Where we wish each other, splurge on parties…and in some subliminal way living the illusion that we will live forever. Birthdays become a celebration of life. When in fact they are moments for mourning. For our time is fast approaching. Birthdays are reminders that one more year has passed. You’re older. And hopefully, wiser. And that’s a good enough reason, one hopes, to celebrate. If not for anything, for having made it to one more birthday…without dying.

Breathe. Breathe in the air. Don’t be afraid. Breathe. And now you’re shorter of breath, and one breath closer to death. (with due apologies to pink)