The mental pictures I have of my parents and grandparents and my childhood are beginning to break up into small fragments and get blown away from me into empty space, and the same wind is sucking me toward it ever so gently, so gently as not even to raise a hair on my head (though the truth is that there are very few of them to be raised). I'm starting to take the idea of death as the end of life somewhat harder than before. I used to wonder why people seemed to think that life is tragic or sad. Isn't it also comic and funny? And beyond all that, isn't it amazing and marvelous? Yes, but only if you have it. And I am starting not to have it. The pictures are disintegrating, as if their molecules were saying, "I've had enough," ready to go somewhere else and form a new configuration. They betray us, those molecules, we who have loved them. They treat us like dirt.— Ron Padget ✦ Customize This Card SAVE: .PNG .JPG .SVG COPY DESIGN: ✦ EXTREME MIX THEME PATTERN FRAME CUSTOM BG: UPLOAD IMAGE ✕ CLEAR DIM: FONT: Playfair Display Cinzel Royal Cormorant EB Garamond Lora Editorial Merriweather Baskerville Roboto Slab Montserrat Raleway Oswald Bold Lato Clean Great Vibes Dancing Script Pacifico Caveat Brush Amatic SC RATIO: Auto Fit 4:5 Portrait 1:1 Square 5:4 Classic 16:9 Wide 9:16 Story 3:4 Poster RES: 1x Standard 2x HD (1080p) 3x Ultra (4K) 4x Extreme Print BG PAT TEXT FRAME The mental pictures I have of my parents and grandparents and my childhood are beginning to break up into small fragments and get blown away from me into empty space, and the same wind is sucking me toward it ever so gently, so gently as not even to raise a hair on my head (though the truth is that there are very few of them to be raised). I'm starting to take the idea of death as the end of life somewhat harder than before. I used to wonder why people seemed to think that life is tragic or sad. Isn't it also comic and funny? And beyond all that, isn't it amazing and marvelous? Yes, but only if you have it. And I am starting not to have it. The pictures are disintegrating, as if their molecules were saying, "I've had enough," ready to go somewhere else and form a new configuration. They betray us, those molecules, we who have loved them. They treat us like dirt.— Ron Padget