Outside the train station, some guy handed me a leaflet about God. I haven’t read it, but I will at some point. I’m not much of a believer, but I enjoy reading the words of people who do. It doesn’t matter what they believe, as long as it’s something that has a hold of their heart. Even better are those who keep their beliefs in the face of ridicule. I admire the strength of such people, and although I doubt reading the leaflet will cause me to embrace the word of the big man above, I feel as though I owe it to the man standing in the blustery cold, trying to share his words and getting spurned by those not willing to give him even a second of their time. Plus, he had a beard. I have a soft spot for bearded men, especially those that are unkempt. I put the leaflet in the pocket of my coat, now hanging on the wall above the radiator in the living room. It’s slightly damp from the light rain that fell as I climbed the hill back to mine with my bag of shopping. I was listening to a podcast named The Infinite Monkey Cage. This one show, in particular, was about the proposed death of the universe, and the panel discussed all the varying theories as to how everything will one day come to an end. Time, they say, will continue as it has for trillions upon trillions of years, but it will either keep going forever or disintegrate into a state of endless atrophy. How sad and beautiful that the time we humans occupy is gone in the mere blink of an eye, yet while the thought of dying scares me, it’s the idea that love might not be enough that scares me even more.