Maybe we are only alive because we exist in someone’s memory. Our existence is only dependent in the minds of other people. Being remembered and seen and heard gives us the basis for meaning. In a hundred years when we’re dead and everyone that knew us dies – that will be true death.

So Shakespeare isnt dead. He knew he wouldnt die and he wrote poems about people so that they too will live on. And i think that is truly poetic.

How alive am i?


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