Life it seems, at least in my understanding is not too different from the timeouts from my youth. Funny how the passing of those minutes in that corner felt like years, yet life is also measured in years. It is not something that is particularly enjoyed, just endured for the time being, like timeouts eventually it to shall come to pass.

To write is to achieve immortality, for words are unlike flesh are not ravaged by time, unchained from the bonds of time and location. In writing a man may speak across the centuries, across continents. He frees himself from this world, by ensuring that something is left behind.