Death may be life’s finest invention—
its finality is what gives everything weight.

That’s why we cherish flowers,
even knowing they’ll fade within days.

Impermanence sharpens perception.

A rare pink sunset,
a memory from before we knew better,
a conversation that lingers longer than it should—

these are what remain.
Not time itself,
but what it held.

We don’t measure life in years,
but in heartbeats and memory.

That’s why monotony steals from us—
not days, but substance.
Whole stretches collapse in hindsight,
leaving only a handful of moments behind.

The numerous climbs shortly followed by the fall.

You know that one heavily quoted line about Icarus smiling when he did—
his wax wings long since spent—
however he was at peace in that moment,
as it was evident that he actively made an attempt, regardless of how temporary.

I’d like to imagine that in moments like that you feel most alive—
akin to adrenaline rushes where time slows and your senses heighten:
the loud sounds of rhythmic drums in the background being your heartbeat,
the world lowering its decibels to an almost muted hum,
strides of passer-by’s slowing,
the beating wings of passing fowls,
and the ever more visible currents of warm winds that embrace them.

It’s almost as if in that moment, you’re invited to witness the invisible thread that connects all series of events—
like a veil has been lifted.

No longer perceiving it as an adult moulded by experiences, hometowns, cities or environments—
just another soul finally witnessing the soul of the world.

Even if only for a moment.