My Circles Have Corners

Talk about your greatest fear. I think I want to submit this as a "topic of my choice" for a college essay.

It's kind of pathetic, but I'm so scared to die. Death is this all encompassing terror that suffocates me when I think about it, a smoke that creeps up behind my knees and grabs me by the elbow; milky ghosts that wrap themselves around my neck, sour and foreign, uncomfortable. What a cliché question, but what's out there after we leave anyways? Is this all there is? And if this is it, is it enough?

I want so badly to be infinite.

The thing that really bothers me is the fact that everything is so temporary. Sometimes I feel that life is a bunch of leaving before we've been introduced, that time doesn't have the patience for my many curious endeavors. Far too often, we humans just waste our lives and chase parked cars while worrying that this elusive, raging phenomenon we call life is too much for us.

I wish I was like Socrates or even that one guy in Harry Potter who treats Death like an old friend; those people who have such an aloof attitude toward danger, too careless to even give second thoughts about their actions. In my opinion, those people are venerable, so brave that they would eagerly give their lives for their loved ones while I would instead gather my stumbling legs and flee for my life. Socrates will shake Death's hand and maybe even have a long talk, somehow coming to a resounding peace that life is fleeting, but okay. Meanwhile, I wouldn't even look Death in the eye. I'm sorry, I would whisper cowardly, I'm not interested.

How can I even be scared of hard calculus problems and spiders of mediocre size when there's death to worry about? How can I quiver in the midnight blackness of my room when there are far more grave problems in the world than not being able to see what's directly in front of you? People are gone before you can even blink: a drunk driving accident, a heart attack, an accidental fall.

I have begged life to not be so ephemeral; I've begged people not to leave me, to get better, to fight for more than they bargained for. I've tried not to invest so much of my heart in things so it wont hurt so badly when they're ripped away. Attachment makes you so, so vulnerable. And because of that, I am, and probably always will be so, so vulnerable.

But I guess that's okay. After I really thought about it, fear is okay. Let Death walk alongside you and push you away from him when you're about to do something stupid. Let those milky ghosts whisper into your ear the important lessons on appreciation for this life. It really is too perfect, too short.

So, let's accept that life is perfect in its imperfection; that as humans, we are perfect because we were rejected and survived, we are perfect because we failed but did not fail to see the lesson. We are each perfect in our own messy ways; we are perfect because we remind people that no one will last forever.

In short, we are perfect because we are temporary.

But, even at the very end, I never want to be gone. There is such a difference between leaving and being truly, definitely, completely gone.

I have enough faith in humanity to hope that they will not destroy my favorite spot by the pond near my house, and that one day, there will be someone just like me who will sit there and wonder about a seemingly insignificant life. Maybe then, I will be that ghost who whispers in her ear that life is fleeting but lovely, wonderful and whimsical in its disposition. It's interesting to hope that I may eventually be infinite, the teacher of this appreciation, something I've never really thought of: that death is a hope giver, too.

And in the end, I will never, ever be gone. And that, dear Death, is the miracle of life.

So ha.

Author's Note

I really, really, really need to cut this down about 200 words. Also, for anyone who knows, is this an appropriate piece to submit? Thank you all so much :)