A pastor in Georgia once said:
“What’s the point of sleeping for a hundred years… if you wake up among strangers?”
No children. No family.
No one who remembers your name the way your mother did.
No hands that know how to hold your soul without hurting it.
And I agree —
Not just as a thought, but as something I feel in the deepest part of me.
⸻
Because life isn’t about duration.
It’s about connection.
It’s not how long you live —
but with whom.
One day filled with love is worth more than a hundred years in solitude.
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In a world obsessed with longevity and technology,
we forget this simple truth:
We are not made of time.
We are made of memory and belonging.
We are sons, daughters, lovers, mothers, friends.
And without them, waking up isn’t a miracle.
It’s a sentence.
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You, my love, have taught me that.
That home is not a building — it’s the arms that hold you.
That eternity is not immortality — it’s love that doesn’t fade.
So if I ever fall into a hundred-year sleep,
I’ll leave a note behind:
“Don’t wake me…
unless she’s here.”