I pour so much energy into every second, minute, hour of my life. I pause before making decisions and I thoroughly plan what I can.
But it's curious to me that in one hundred years from today, my brain will have rotted, my flesh decayed, and my thoughts, actions, words, feelings, all will only be a faded ripple, long since forgotten after pushing others outward.
I like to believe that there's a soul trapped inside of this body, something that will be able to look back at everything I've done with greater understanding and enlightenment.
It's a bit unsettling knowing that all of your work will be remembered for, perhaps, another generation or two that follows you. Unless you achieve this false sense of fame and power, that is, and they decide that some of your actions are worth recording in some form or another.
However, one must bear in mind the effects that the sparks of your life provide.
every action feeds the fire in it's own seemingly microscopic way.

my fear of death is characterized by my fear of ceasing to exist. my comfort in death is knowing that every action creates a ripple in the water, or throws a spark into the fire. although obscured by the rest of the world's developments, they're present.