Peering out the window at the rummaging Saturday night life of a Avanda Ave I clutched my pristine mug and sipped at my ginger lime tea. The breeze of the summer bit at my crimson robe and with it’s clenched jaw attempted to pull it away, before I quickly readjusted myself. I wondered when the night would hit me and I would pass on into slumber. I moved from my window back to the small full bed at the centre of my room. Placing the tea on the coaster of my night table I took off my robe. Now just my bare boxers on I slipped into the bed and began to wonder something before I picked up my nightly read of Poe.

“What was the likelihood I die in my sleep?”

I tossed and turned with my mortality, and ultimately letting the human desire win before I could even graze a stanza of poetry. Would it be the end of the world? To pass on in my sleep? As unfulfilled of a 23 year old as I was it felt like it was fated. That at some point post me closing the gates of vision my pupils saw out of, that I would simply go out. Without a brawl or a final word from myself.