A Life well lived

What does it mean to have lived a good life? How do you measure it?

Success? Satisfaction? Inner peace?

In my deathbed, How am I gonna know, whether I have lived a good life? How do I know if my story is worth telling? Will you listen to me while I struggle to find words, gaping for breath? Will you wait patiently while I pause here and there, with eyes deep as a valley and still have some life left, gazing at infinity?

Will you listen with all ears, wanting to hear it all even if it means standing there forever? Or will it be only because you respect an old man’s dying wish?

Which is it gonna be my dear? Which one is it gonna be?

If my organs get to talk, will they rule in my favor? Will my legs curse me for all the walks I forwent in love of the couch and the car? Will my tongue curse me for all the mess I made him create? Will my fingers curse me for all the tapping and typing I burdened them with?

How are they going to hold up to my story?

The overture, the strings, and now, the Crescendo.. Will the audience stand up with mouths wide open and mixed emotions, breathless and speechless? Are their eyes gonna shine with the welled up tears? Ohh, tears of joy, surprise, longing..

I forgot. There is no audience. There is only you to hear me narrate. But who are you? How do I find you? When I see you, how am I going to know this is the person who will stand beside me, during all my ups and downs, good times and bad times, happiness and sorrows, till my very last breath? How am I gonna know if this person will be my best friend, or the love of my life, or just a traveler who sticks with me in the rest of my journey?

Who are you my dear? How do I find you?

And with that last breath, can I hope for a beautiful ending? One with such emotions? Could it end with me saying “it’s time” and take a look at you for the very last time and close my eyes in peace? Content and Satisfied?

And Happy?