Every day is a new chapter in the book of life. In it, we're all minor characters. Its backstory is a fiction. It's a story that will never come to a conclusion. It speaks for itself, regardless of whether anyone is present or not.
Please, God, paint all humans the same colour before you send them here. People have fought violently over different body colours, permanently dividing society.
What constitutes success or failure for humans who rely on breathing to survive? Only aspiration should be to release the last breath in a dignified manner.