Once, someone told me the definition of Hell:

"On your last day on Earth, the person you could have been…

meets the person you ended up becoming."

And day by day,

you water your tree.

Little by little.

Your Orchard grows.

With every drop of indulgence,

with every vice.

with every time you knew better and still did not change.

you water it.

So now, close your eyes. No more denial.

And ask your Self

"What am I doing every day that I KNOW, in the long run, is ruining me?"

You always knew.

Maybe it is the food, what you eat.

Maybe it is the screen you glue yourself to before sleep.

Maybe it is those you surround yourself with.

You know what is keeping you from reaching a higher joy.

But do you change?

No.

You keep watering

Your Noxious Orchard of Vice.

You justify it with tired logic.

And suddenly it is 2025.

What happened to the promise you made last year?

To the gym?

The course?

The book?

Just imagine if you had started back then! Oh you feel that now do you? In your Chest? NO. Your Heart. For you have always known the glorious potential you hold

And how much did you water

The Orchard of Vice?

Oh, it grew.

It wrapped itself around your neck.

The rope is tightening.

But do you stop?

No.

You keep betraying yourself one quiet day at a time.

Until one day

you can't breathe.

And no one can save you.

Because the gardener was always you.

And as time does, the years are gone.

You are 80.

And all this time,

you have watered it.

And now?

You are bitter.

You grumble.

You rage at life.

But how can you not rage

when there is a rope in your throat blocking the air?

It is your last day on earth. You hang.

And as your breath shortens,

you see someone approaching.

And they look…

just like you.

But they are not.

They are lighter.

They walk like they have seen Fear and yet had the courage to choose Love.

You hate them.

They look into your eyes with pity, with love, with… is that hope?

And then you realize—

That is you.

The person you could have been.

The person you were always meant to be.

The you who chose differently.

But you chose to water The Orchard of Vice.

It is too late now.

And with a tear of regret—

you leave this world.

Or maybe…

Maybe you don't wait that long.

You stop saying "it is not that bad."

You stop saying "tomorrow."

You stop saying "just one more time."

You stop watering.

You feel the discomfort.

You feel the pull of old roots.

And you let them die.

And slowly

your Noxious Orchard of Vice

begins to wither.

A big breath!

Is this paradise? Are you allowed here?

Of course…

Welcome home, once again, my old friend.

I have missed you,