Real

I am 35 years old. I burp. I fart. I drink, smoke, and curse. Sometimes, when I take a shit, it smells horrendous.

And you know what?

So do you.

I am real.

I actually exist.

My heart pumps the same crimson fluid as yours. It feels the same pain. It feels the same love. It breaks just as easily.

Like you, I have but one life.

I am imperfect.

I struggle.

I live.

And someday, I will die.

But not today.