this is my story; this is my song (insevens) wrote in redismycolour,

.day twenty-eight

Day Twenty-Eight
twenty-eighth january

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21 . 22 . 23 . 24 . 25 . 26 . 27

I used to think I was scared of death. Or by facing death – by combat and action and the uncertainty of the battlefield. Not any more. No, now what scares me is the possibility that I live to grow old. I might wake up one day tired and wasted and unable to even open a beer. I might need crutches and a hearing aid and help getting dressed. When and if I get to that point, it'll be my memories that'll keep me going. The fact that I've lived through so much, survived so much, to get there. Do you want to get old? Do you want to end up with only your memories to make up for the loss of your faculties?

Jack Harkness


The Deviant Strain
Justin Richards

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Tags: day twenty-eight, quote
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