You are not.
You are going to die.
Maybe quickly but probably not.
And when you do, you will either be buried or burned.
And then, after some period of time, most likely a fairly short one, you will be forgotten.
But Kate.
Kate is not going to die.
And when the last person with any memory of you follows you into the deep hideous hole of eternal blackness, she will probably either be shopping for a new sable or eating caviar.
Kate Moss poem from TAR magazine.
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