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11.2: Poets and White Coats

I never thought the concept of a birthday through.

I mean besides the balloons and the overly enthusiastic smiles, it never really got to me how every birthday celebrated is a year closer to my deathday. It never got to me that all of that happiness and all those presents are very carefully taken note of.

Death is always linked to birth.

And so I wonder if the sadness we feel when someone dies is equivalent to the happiness we felt when they were born, to the glee we felt watching them blow their candles away. I also wonder if they get as many roses on their funerals as presents on their birthdays.

Because isn't that the point of death? To erase what has been created? To take what has been given? Equilibrium? Physics?

And I wonder if people like Tobias and I are abnormalities, something that terribly disturbs this balance. Because maybe the world wasn't ready to compensate for our loss. Maybe it hadn't grown enough roses for our funerals.