He asked about dying.
I don’t plan on dying, I say with a smile.
You don’t plan on dying? You think you will live forever?
No. I think I will live to be a normal old age.
Okay, he says. So between now and let’s assume, eighty something, in that thirty years, what do you see for yourself?
Quietly in reply these words, I don’t look forward and I don’t think back. I believe each day is a new beginning.
We pause.
I do not trust. He should know that I am trying.
After all, dying is inevitable so why think of it. To think about dying is to imply that I comprehend it. I don’t.
I will not live in death’s domain.
I do not do vulnerable well.