A friend, once, asked me how I imagine myself when I am old
I naturally answered : dead!
Well, we laughed about it for a long time
I have never understood why people are so far from the idea of their own death

A terrible toothache gave me pain for three days
I just couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything.
And I thought again of my answer, so close was I to the feeling of the other side.
In my pain which makes me feel so powerless, even if I don’t cry about the idea of my end, I can feel perfectly well the cold silence of my absence.
And I remember how much I have cried the death of my father.
I still cry sometimes, not about him - my dear dad so quiet -, but the memory of his death, the memory of my grief. The memory of tears calling for more tears. And I think how the idea of some things is probably more powerful than the thing itself.