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How sad it is that this soul so quickly falls unconscious, forgetting that it will be held to account for everything. How can one so suddenly become so heedless, shooting off like that, uncaring of the consequences? How can one’s faith be so minute — like the mustard seed of the parables of a churchgoing youth? How sad that so often I return to this point, looking back in shock, suddenly recalling how I so easily ignored words imprinted on my mind. Like that saying, that a man will utter a word that he deems insignificant, yet he will be cast down into the depths of Hell for it. Like, speak good or remain silent. Like, speak only truth. How sad that a week ago I read that the companions of the Prophet, peace be upon him, were as fearful of their good deeds being squandered and not accepted as the present generation is certain that their neglect will be forgiven. How sad that I repeat this cycle over and over, but never seem to learn.