Sitting on my roof reflecting on my life, as I do most nights after work when theirs nothing to distract me, I’ve come to realize that absolutely every thing ends. There is not “for sure” when it comes to life, absolutely no “forever”. Not scientifically, not mathematically, not even metaphorical. The consept of “forever” is one that we as humans tend to cling to, knowing that it is a lie. A beautiful, romantic lie, but a lie whatsoever. Everything ends. Everything dies. Our joy, our parents, our childhood, our sorrow. Nothing is meant to last or withstand the clutches of time. Nothing can live up to our ideal of forever. There was a time when we didn’t exist. When “forever” didn’t exist. When we were single celled organisms. No love, no friendship. And there will come a time when nothing exists once again.
And it is a shame. That something so beautiful, like the idea of “love”, is bound for death the very instant it is born. Everything beautiful dies. And it is very sad.