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Dissipate in to the streams of my memory that have forever flowed and never stopped, much like this run on sentence, that has neither an end, nor a true beginning, but rather just continues to exist like the humans of the world, constantly seeking for dreams and the courage to pursue them, sometimes finding themselves in a moment of joy, but for the most part ending up in stages of futility, which, when reflected upon, help us grow and achieve the objective of a thing called "living", which is comprised of things like love and desire, but ruled for the most part by the need to survive, whether it be by marriage or a job promotion, and often the idea that in the end none of it will matter anyways, for each human, from the Dali Lama to a hillbilly sex offender, will begin a particular minute of their lives where they die, and nothing can stop it, only the questionable prayers to a particular God give us comfort in the thought that it isn't really the end, because we all live our lives, much like you are reading this sentence, realizing that it isn't too long until the end, and you can see it, but you continue to move along until, after a few more commas, there is nothing left to read, and no life left to live.