Thinking

Thinking. It's funny thing, isn't it? I think, then I type it here. Or maybe I type it here, then think. Editing? Only afterwards, not during. Well, when I begin thinking, it's like a train. One thing leads to the next, and eventually my thoughts end up somewhere, and I wonder how they got there. Like riding the bus in the mornings. I sit for 20 minutes and listen to music, and suddenly, I'm at my destination. It feels as though the ride goes too quickly. Like life, I suppose. If you think about it, you have 100 years, or, most likely, less, to make a difference in this world. And then you're gone. It's a peculiar thing to think about. Death. When you won't be able to do anything anymore. No eating, writing, reading. Or maybe there is. That's why death scares humanity. We don't know and we probably won't be able to figure out what death is like. And that scares us. The unknown. Like the only depths of the ocean, where we can't see, and don't know what is below. Inky depths. Like the night sky right now. Well, it has become later than I expected. And somehow this post went from thinking about thinking to how dark it is outside. This is what happens when I think.