What good are my eyes if it cannot see the truth. What good are my ears if it can’t catch their lies. What good are my lips if it cannot say what I need it to say.
My parents died years ago. I was very close to them. I still miss them terribly. I know I always will. I long to believe that their essence, their personalities, what I loved so much about them, are - really and truly - still in existence somewhere. […] Plainly, there’s something within me that’s ready to believe in life after death. And it’s not the least bit interested in whether there’s any sober evidence for it. So I don’t guffaw at the woman who visits her husband’s grave and chats him up every now and then, maybe on the anniversary of his death. It’s not hard to understand. And if I have difficulties with the ontological status of who she’s talking to, that’s all right. That’s not what this is about. This is about humans being human.
Let’s play “Have you ever?”. You ask me and I have to answer you, yes or no.
Cigarettes do kill,
Life goes on,
with or without you.