If I die young, bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses.

I may have had too much Coke because it’s literally a quarter after one in the morning and I’m still up with this weird question stuck in my head – when does life really begin?

I’m only using my cellphone as light because I’m too lazy to get up. And I hate writing with a crappy pen.

So, when does life really begin?

Does it begin after a child is conceived? Or does it begin after his first heartbeat?

Does it begin when one steps into college? Or does it begin after it ends?

Does it begin when one turns 40?

Does it begin when one falls in love? Or does it end when one does?

Life has all sorts of definitions and I think the answer to my question really depends on how I view life.

Oh life.

By the way, I didn’t think of the title while I was writing this last night. I’m singing it right now and I just felt like writing it as the title.

Oh, and life ain’t always what you think it ought to be, no.

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