But his death affect me in a way that I couldn't even imagine. I'm 32 at the moment, my body has started aging, the downfall of physical me. The best of me is behind, everything ahead of me, will be a consolidation of my own past. For me, M.J is the first great artist of my living, breathing time to die. Our time as living creature was weaved together. My only bond with him, was the fact we were sharing the same timeframe. Until now, where I get to continue. It always take someone else end, to remember our own faith. Which is cruelly unavoidable. While thinking about my end, I can only try to foresee what lies between now and that last moment. I'm dying to make it worthy, unsure of the outcome.