100 Years

100 years. I wanted to live for that long when I was younger. I would have been okay with dying on my 100th birthday. I just wanted to live for 100 years. I thought it was something good and impressive – to live for so long.

I remember a character saying something in a movie I saw a few years ago. She was immortal. She said living forever wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. To live through wars and pain, watching things go on and on without fail. The earth going through the seasons every year. I listened to her and thought she had a point, but I still thought it would be great to have eternal life here instead of having to die so early – especially to disease and violence.

That was then. Now I’d be fine with going to sleep and not waking up – on any given day. I really don’t think I’d mind it. I’d just keep sleeping and not know anything.

That would be great if there was nothing after death. I think I’d prefer that than the possibility of going to a heaven or hell. Heaven will be too happy for me. I don’t see myself being joyful all the time, praising God every second I’m awake. (Will people even sleep there?) And though I don’t believe in an eternal hell like most, burning for any period of time is definitely painful. I try to prepare myself for that.

100 years. It’s overrated. I can die today.



Didn’t mean to write this.


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