Something Terminal

Is it wrong that for a minute I wondered what it’d be like to have a real problem like cancer or being discriminated against. I thought of all the poems I’d be inspired to write, all the pain I’d have to share, all the words that would come pouring out of my heart as easily as the Niagara River flowed over into its falls. But how wonderful is it for the truly afflicted, to have all these words at the ready, at any time, as the pain and experiences never dissolve into nothingness but rather, remain and grow larger and more weighty on their souls. Wouldn’t they be wishing for lightness and a day where none of it existed in exchange for all those words.

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