I suppose that a lot of people have looked at me and seen a pot of water on a stove. And they've wondered when I would boil over and escape my container.

Well, those people have been using the wrong analogy.

I'm more like a soap bubble, blown from a tiny plastic wand by a naive kid and drifting in the breeze.

I won't boil over. That's for the young. Instead, I'll pop. And disappear. It'll be like I was never even here.

You know that sound that a bubble makes, just before its flimsy walls fail, and it pops out of existence? That incredible strained silence that can only be heard by the mind, but never by the ears?

That sound deafens me.