​Reflective prose

I could very well let my soul be corrupt; so many things have happened to me, and of excuses I have plenty. After extended periods in my life where I lacked direction, I now live righteously with virtue and, above all, an unwavering commitment to my philosophy. Being authentic and remembering death remains ever-present—the equaliser. I do not fear it, as I understand it is part of the cycle of life; instead, I do my best to make all the days count as the next is not guaranteed. This is not to say I live carelessly—quite the opposite. I give my mortality the respect it deserves, quietly acknowledging I am a thread of reality, no more important than another. This was made clear to me as I walked past the corpse of a baby bird; it was filled with ants, each individually taking away small fragments of it—I was gifted with a realisation: even in death, it was going to serve a greater purpose. Like the waves rising to meet the shoreline, I too shall ascend, having served my purpose.