The world is an illusion and yet my story seems so real . Before the story and after the story is nothing , silence . I am so caught up in this story of my life , the pain , the suffering the happiness the joy and yet this story ends. What remains is nothing . 50 years from today all those who read this will be gone , maybe just some pictures on some walls may remain . All the load of worry we carry will mean nothing , the world will still go on without us. Nothing before birth , nothing after death .