If it was another quiver in your arrow,
If it was networked into reason,
If it was in every fibre of your being,
If it was the dark circles around your eyes,
If it was a question of your very existence,
If you had a chance to write your eulogy,
If there was nothing left to match intensity,
If you shift gears zombie-like to unthinking,
If it was the beginning and the end,
If it was a never-ending cyclic mode,
If you could be a dispassionate observer,
If there was ever any question of choices,
If the command or request borders on insanity,
If it was no longer a question of parameters,
If all dreams come to nothing in the end,
If you were left with a pocketful of life,
If you could touch your soul and sniff your goodness,
If you suddenly remembered your third birthday,
If you were to be sacrificed for your convictions,
If your life has indeed been a travesty,
If you were drunk on ego and big on yourself,
If images of pets, friends and family flashed past you,
If in the end you're trying so hard to be you,
If you saw the creases on your portrait face,
If you were finally shedding the restrictive,
If you were beyond any pigeon-holing,
If it was starting to sink in somehow...

Tell me.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Lupar, in the year 867 AF.