The Unexamined Life.

I subscribe to the idea that deep down, we all know the truth. What that truth is changes from person to person. Some people need to live for the truth, they have an insatiable desire to find it and question it and everything in between. Others live in spite of the truth. They can lead pleasant and innocent lives, better filled by reality television than philosophical questions. They are capable of ignoring the truth and  wandering along the path of life without worry.
Once you start examining life, you lose the ability understand what it's like to lead an unexamined one. It's too easy to brush off those who don't question their place in the universe as low-life imbeciles, incapable of intelligent thought. I imagine that every human being questions at least one aspect of their life at some point or another. As a frequent questioner, I can't fathom a life completely unexamined.
But let's pretend that some people really are as ignorant as they seem. They live like animals, unaware of whats happening to them. The only difference is that animals physically can't examine their lives, and the people do have that capacity. Are their lives worth living?
Life is all we have. You strip away  physical possessions and desires and everything else we acquire along the way, and only life is left. Without life, you wouldn't exist; you wouldn't even be able to contemplate if your life was worth living. Every life is worth living. We only get one life, one shot to get everything right. Only one in a trillion will get it right the first time, the only time.
I do think that everyone SHOULD examine their lives, and I can try to make people see this, but by no means will everybody listen to me. But we can't shrug off lives as we shrug off video games that aren't worth playing and books that aren't worth reading. A life is a life.

Eulogy

There is something magical about a full moon, and she knows what it is. When we are walking at that right time of day, she never fails to point it out to me. And then it hangs there like a clock, staring down at us while she gazes back in awe.
Clumsy habits and awkward ticks aside, she is always trying to connect with people. She is never one to exclaim her feelings outright, I think he finds that a bit cheesy. But she always welcomes new people, and makes an effort to stay in touch.
The single word I would use to describe her is "artist." Her hands are never idle, always itching for a pencil or strip of paper to fold into cranes. No inch of blank paper is safe from her in-the-moment sketches. Trees wind their ways into margins, eyes stare back from behind blocks of text. And moons hang like clocks.