I Will Die When I’m 52

Foto von Renato Danyi von Pexels

For the most part of my life very few things brought me excitement. New places were just new places, the beach was the beach, being surrounded by people felt empty and pointless. 

I was a hollow carcass, but of one thing I was truly certain, I would die when I turned 52. 

52 is a whimsical number. Why not 25, 16 or 30? To me, 52 was the appropriate time to die. 

Try to close your eyes and visualize a sumptuous home with high ceilings, a snug coach and an amazing view to the sea. 

Then you look down to your hands, and see yourself holding a glass of wine. A slight breeze glides over your face. 

There is a vast bookshelf next to you. In it are the books you wrote. They weren’t just insignificant books. 

They were memorable, and they gained you all the money and prestige you wanted. 

The meaningful people in your life made some good memories with you. Maybe past lovers still think about you. 

You have reached the ordinary age of 52. A few decades later, you’re still a carcass, but your heart is still beating.

A few decades later I’d still be a carcass, but my heart wouldn’t beat for much longer because I’d find a way to stop it. 

The echo is deafening, and there are not enough memories, views, books or dreams to make it less overwhelming. 

I used to think 52 was a good number. Not too young to be mourned for all the things I could’ve been. Not too old to be picked up by the undertaker with pity in their eyes.  

Certainty is barely real, however, I was almost certain 52 would be the end of me. 

Simply because I lost the ability to be in awe, and my feelings were buried under sea. 

Of one thing I am certain now, how stupid was I! Dying at 52 is one of the biggest bull my brain has ever produced. 

If you -like me- have a number in mind for when you’re going to die, I’d like to extend you an invitation to ask yourself: “Does this really make sense or am I just being stupid?

Don’t panic if your answer is closer to the latest option. Take a deep breath and perhaps take comfort in the fact we are united in stupidity, and yet we’re still here.