Clock

I've seen four pacifiers on the sidewalk this winter. Abandoned by soft mouths. An omen for what? Stop reading into it. A guy who does not work with me but is here at my work asked me if I had kids. Then he asked how old I was. Then he told me my clock was ticking after twenty-five. My therapist has tried to convince me otherwise. Telling me I had a lot of time to decide. I don't think I will ever decide. It will have to be an accident. If someone asked me, where ever I was before I was born, if I would like to be alive, I think I would spend an eternity making the subject so incredibly complex I would never make the choice. THE CHOICE.
To be or not to be. Thank god, it wasn't an option. Thank god, I don't always have to make decisions. Thank god, for accidents that define who we are. Thank god, existentialism is a myth. Thank god, god is dead. Thank god.