I feel sometimes as if I am insubstantial, a ghost within the world, nothing nowhere nobody. I do not know why. I have friends, family, I love and hate, work and play — but none of it seems to me to have made any kind of imprint on the world. I am as the wind, that passes by, and is thought of no more. I do not know what could cure me of this condition, that perhaps there is something I could create, or perhaps if I were to have children, I would feel some solidity to that which is me. Or is it the human condition, that we all of us leave few marks that we ever were? And what I sense is how ephemeral our existence is, how fleeting is this whole business of life…. Better make something of today, if that is so. Pass not from this world with few memories and many regrets, for even if I leave no mark on it, I would perhaps… that the imprint of the world on me is worthy of all the breaths I have taken.
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