Young people die with unfullfilled hopes and dreams. Old people die with unfullfilled memories. And the rest of us in between die with unfullfilled realities, of what we can't do, won't do, or don't have the time to do. We die knowing our hopes and dreams haven't come true and our memories aren't full realized. We die as we lived, trying to understand not knowing it wasn't about understanding, but about just living, with what you have and who you are, and trying to do more, not knowing if it's real or a youthful hope or dream. And it fades into an unfullfilled memory.
Maybe I should stop listening to the blues (music) at night.