Excerpts From My Mind That Never Turned into Anything More.

I am a professional at giving myself away like a house waiting to be redone. You come only temporarily as a tenant. And now I do not know what to do with the color of your promises, the blanket of your comfort, or the silhouette of our intertwined hands, that you left me with the reminisce of our love.

Nobody discusses the sorrow that accompanies the most joyous moments in your life. Much of my distress stems from when things finally fell into place, and I moved on too swiftly, too hasty that I forgot to live it properly. What do you do when you find yourself in a 'perfect moment' knowing it will change you forever? How long do you allow yourself to bid farewell to the person you once were, understanding you won't be the same again? I often regret not taking more time to embrace myself during those fleeting moments fully. I long for the person I used to be.

I was unaware that the affection I held, came with a cost. One day, my childhood—alongside the bits I can’t recall, the moments shared with friends I’m no longer in contact with, and the brief encounters from relationships that fizzled out—would resurface to demand its dues. The cost of feeling secure, comforted, and cherished. If I were to balance all my love against my sorrow, the weight of my sorrow would exceed what my love ever anticipated having to pay.

All significant things eventually fade away. Excellent literature transforms into worn-out books, and remarkable music gets tied to painful memories and is often forgotten because recalling it brings unbearable sorrow. Masterpieces displayed in galleries become isolated as viewers fail to truly know the artist deeply, and personally. Great love that doesn’t last, cherished memories begin to blur, and magnificent structures crumble— even Notre Dame couldn't withstand the erosion of time and human influence. The reality is that all exceptional things eventually vanish because humans and everything we create are bound to the relentless passage of time. We project an illusion of control and dominance, but ultimately, we are mere dots in the vast expanse of the universe. Therefore, if greatness is our pursuit, we risk being overshadowed.

I've frequently pondered what occurs to us after death. Is there a passageway or a dazzling light, or perhaps a round of 21 questions where you account for all your wrongdoings? Do you encounter those whom you've cared for and lost?

More than anything, I contemplate whether tranquillity appears the same at that moment as it does when we’re alive. If it does, then why do we spend our lives in pursuit of this tranquillity, with only a few truly attaining it? And if it does, why is it that we seem to understand we can finally experience it only after we have passed on?

It's an intriguing aspect of pain; it serves as sunlight to those who flourish in the downpour.