I have never been so deep into thinking about the very end of existence, or - if my initial perceptions are wrong - whatever's beyond death. Being so near to the end as I have been and seeing others cliffhanging onto the thin thread of life my mind keeps on bringing all these memories to my head, over and over. 

Last weekend, I brought my laptop back to life again. Ever since it's been repaired during the spring, I never felt like operating, but my wife needed it to compile some photo-albums. So I opened it and on the desktop I found something I couldn't remember ever writing. It was titled "this is the end my only friend". I have no direct clue when I have written it, it contained some of my most delicate secrets, which I would never be able to share with those who need to hear. Not only negative things, also lots of words of love I have no strength to sharing personally. Addressed to all those people involved in those delicate issues, but somehow I know it would hurt them so much. So I chose not sharing. Only when I'm not here anymore. 

It's like when my mom lied on her death-bed, when she knew ultimately that there is no way back. When she shared some of those things she never said since they would hurt so much. When you're facing the end, either by sickness, moments of despair, or suffering in an accident breathing your final breathe, then all of these hidden and dark emotions, thoughts and acts come up high and are the only thing in front of you. The need to share these for you were never courageous enough to do so.

Is it courage you need? What's the push to tell all those suppressed acts inside you for so long? When you ultimately not even forget them, maybe they lead your life all the way. Why aren't we sharing this when you're living your everyday life? Why only at moments of misery, or desperation? A strange thought slipped my mind. I just read an article about a young couple who have been living their lives in the strict rules of extreme christianity. Spending their youth together without ever being together due to a series of tales once invented by some people to tame their hoard. After marrying eachother and losing an unborn child, they parted with their belief. It wasn't their belief. Today they say "there is no god". Then I thought that these young people who actually lived most of their lives in true belief and thus sincerity have spent it in a pool of lies. Not only were they lied to, they lied to themselves. And even today, they will continue to lie, since it's nothing more than human instinct to do so. Petty lies to not hurt someone, but when hiding them it's no big deal. What brings us to doing so?

Anyhow, those written emotions in my last letter to mankind has been destroyed. I'm not planning to leave this world yet. Maybe - when time comes - I'll write it down again, but until then, these remain my secrets, either big or small.