sweating it out

it occurred to me today that I could die and very few people would know much about me. it came to me just now, while in the bathtub, actually. I quickly got out of the water, barely toweled off and came downstairs to write. first, I stopped at the window, still wearing only a light-blue towel, water and sweat dripping down my face and neck. the back of my hair is soaked as I type this. dripping. I went to the window just now to close the blinds. didn’t want anyone to see me sitting on my couch half-naked. of course, at that very moment, a skinny, also-sweat-covered older man was speed walking by, holding a phone, earbuds tethered to his ears. he looked up in the moment I stepped to the front window. I smiled. what else could I do? I don’t know if he realized I was barely clothed. chances are he didn’t care. this all happened moments ago. if I were to die, that man wouldn’t know that I take photos for fun and sometimes write stories about other people’s lives, which are much more exciting than mine. it’s not so much the thought of dying as it is dying before I’ve figured myself out. before I’ve had a chance to mean something. I need this. I need to do something that means something. I need to make shit happen and have people actually appreciate it. this isn’t about feeling sorry for myself. because I don’t. I actually feel pretty damn good about myself for the most part. I just want to feel motivated to get up and do something more than I’m doing. I want to make a difference in some way. leave a mark. make someone’s life better. but if I’m going to change the world, I suppose I should put some clothes on.


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