Thoughts race in my mind in every single direction. An idea occurs- I shall write a story about my doppelganger. So I type, and I type, until I realize that I am my doppelganger. I am who I am not, for who you aren't is still part of who you are. The truth too much to bear, I erase the page full of my words- the words that form myself. I look at the time, eager to see it. Time. It's running out. What is time? As I ponder these questions my fingers shoot across my laptop keyboard, exposing my thoughts as they occur to me. Time, time , time. I am wasting it. I erase the paper, remembering how I had just done so just a few minutes ago to my budding doppelganger idea. Memories. Why are some so vivid, and some not? Why do some stand out, and who chooses what you remember? Certainly not yourself, because if you got to choose, then all the bad memories would be gone- typing and typing, words, appearing on the screen as I write down memories I remember in times that I'd forgotten. Then as I realize I am wasting time on something that will never see the light of other's eyes and I erase my words- words. Words. Then at the word "words" I began writing again. Words are never enough, but nor are pictures, or actions, so nothing is ever enough. Words are too accurate, too concrete. Thoughts are wild, as wild as the fingers that are racing across the keyboard typing my thoughts as soon as they are thought. Thoughts. When one thinks they are not thinking they are, for they are thinking that they aren't thinking, and this is a thought. Then I look at the time, realizing my time is passing. Every single minute I am closer to death. Death. With memories, and time, and words, and myself and who I am and am not, how can I die one day? My memories will dissipate into nothing when I die, and my words will forever be lost except for what is recorded, like what is being recorded with my oh so fast fingers as they type my thoughts, the thoughts that will one day be dead as me. But there always is Heaven. Heaven, and hell, and life after death. Then what is death? Is death only defined by the stopping of the human heart? Then I look at the time, and I am another two minutes closer to the stopping of my heart. Shuddering, my fingers continue to record every thought that occurs. Heaven and hell keep your thoughts alive, but only to the dead, but written word keeps them alive to the living. Words are memories that last long over time, and when you die, and you go to either Heaven or Hell, your words, if any remain in the memories of the living, shall remain until time runs out for your memory, and memories and words don't have a heaven or hell. They just disappear, or vanish, or are destroyed, since once forgotten they no longer exist, the only existed. That's why words are important, and that is why my fingers are scrambling as another two minutes go by until my death.