Imagination is a lie as vital

     Imagination is a lie as vital as a next heartbeat, as living as your every breath. Breathe. Beat. Breathe. Beat. I imagine I will live. I imagine. I will live. My mother’s last breath was air that I will also one day hold. My last breath has already floated into yours.

     Years ago, my child told me (when I asked him what the purpose of life was, when after all the sun would destroy the earth in its expansion) that life was a chance to make as many friends as possible. Then I saw.

     The friend that I made was you. For that, you see, I am grateful to the end of time.