They say we get but one life to live. That we ought be happy in our days. They are swift and soon behind us. But is not such a thought capricious? As capricious as the life before us?
I will not forget the sword at my back, or the dagger at my throat. Our very lives always so tender. So close to the edge always.
"But glad tidings! Run along now little master." "Forget this nonsense!" They will say.
But I will not play their game.
The outcome is predetermined.
We all lose in the end.
And the end is always closer than we think.