I gave myself a birthday present, a roll top secretary, not a person but a small writing desk. I took some cast offs to the Goodwill and was irresistibly attracted by the desk, in great condition, needing only a little wax on the wood slides for the drawers, maybe a touch up here and there on the exterior stain.
My age now is three score and eleven. The things that you’re liable to read in The Bible. Borrowed time. Overtime. If I had ever suspected for a minute I might live this long, I would have considered taking better care of myself.
“I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.” – Mark Twain.
We are all made of the same stuff as the rest of the universe, the vast spaces, the stars, including the ones you can still see, even though they are no longer there. Human life selects from the Periodic Table, which is not a piece of furniture. One from column A, another from column B, column C, etc, like choices from a foreign and incomprehensible menu.
According to Wikipedia, “Almost 99% of the mass of the human body is made up of six elements: oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. Only about 0.85% is composed of another five elements: potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium. All are necessary to life.”
Wikipedia does not guess at the composition of the human soul, whether electrolytes or restless atoms, always seeking to rearrange themselves and spread the news. Or love, like party balloons filled with the noble gas helium, lifted to the ceiling or beyond.