While alive, I was a person of enormous appetites, consuming in great, greedy bites. I wanted to press my heart to its limits; to ride the beast of life bareback. I made no excuses for my desires. I took lovers and when they no longer satisfied, I moved on. I drank fine wine and excellent whiskey, but never so much that I could not enjoy the next day. I traveled. I hustled. I painted and danced and wrote. My lust was contagious. Most of the people I met along the way were happy to help me along on my quest, for they lived vicariously through me. I did what they wished they were not afraid to do.
I wasn’t always there for those who needed me, but those closest to me understood why I could not be.
Maybe I was selfish. I was called that a few times. But I had my own mission, my own plan, and I could not be held back by the small obligations and petty desires of others.
I always assumed I’d die in some exotic location or in the midst of an insane physical challenge, but somehow, I lived to be quite old, and died peacefully at home, surrounded by those who had helped me fly.
It was a good life…not without its pain and disappointments…but lived well and to the fullest. Perhaps I could have done things a differently to achieve a different outcome, but I did what made sense in for me in every moment. Anything otherwise would have made it a different life.