I keep drinking, but my thirst is never quenched. Isn't it a miracle that even some live to be one hundred? There are millions of instances, of ways to die that are out of our control, yet I've made it this far. I've never broken a bone, never even had a cavity, but each space in between my breaths brings me closer to death. But is also what keeps me alive. Am I ready? Are any of us ever ready for anything? I live the way I live because I've been taught to plan for my future, a future that may not even exist. I've also been taught to live every day like it's my last, but how can I do both? Lovely things stay at a distance because I'm too busy being educated about the sentence structure for phrases I may never say and conversions of chemical reactions that just might wait to take place until my body is decomposing, which I, of course, won't live to see.