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You will do your best. You will do your worst. You’ll do a shit-ton of average.

But when you die, you will be gone. Whether or not you adhere to some version of the afterlife, to me, to everyone else, you will be gone.

What do you want when you’re gone? How do you want to live on in your loved ones minds?

My epitaph, if for now, I’d want to go a little something like this:

He drank, he smoked, he swore and he wrote. He lived and he loved and was loved and believed in love. And he laughed. He laughed at everything. And that laugh was too loud and too sudden and it burst often, and often at the wrong time. At himself, you, the gods, the sea, a joke, fear, at life & death. He laughed.

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