The other night I was sitting in bed.

I looked over at Sean and noticed that his hair was a little receding. He's getting old. At first, for some weird reason, that made me love him even more. We were sitting right there, in love and getting old together. I was so happy.

But then...I suddenly was afraid of dying. I don't know why I'm quite writing this, maybe I just want to get this off of my mind. I let this particular thought stir in my brain time and time again, until I find a tentative answer. Which always ends up being...I guess, it really doesn't matter.

“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.” 
― Graham Greene