Take a coin. Flip it. Heads, you live another 50 years. Tails, you die tonight at midnight.
Write this on a sticky note and place it on your bathroom mirror: memento mori 7-28
Today is July 28th. The air is thick with summer; the crickets are loud, and the year is more than halfway over. But in the grand calendar of the universe, this date means nothing. It is an inch of sand falling through an infinite hourglass. Take a coin
By the numbers: 7 represents completion (the week, the seven wonders). 28 is a perfect number—it equals the sum of its divisors (1+2+4+7+14). But in the context of Memento Mori , perfection is a lie. Even a perfect number decays. Even the 7th month ends. The only perfection is the present moment—because it is the only thing you actually own. Tails, you die tonight at midnight
You are still here.
Remember You Will Die: Notes from the 28th of July
“I will die. But not today. Today, I will live as if I am already grateful for the memory of this moment.”