We are specks of dust.
A small spark within a sea of darkness.
Only lit for an inconsequential span of time.
That time, the span of existence. Of being.
Though once I believed us to be special.
Special in that we thought.
I now know it is that we feel.
Life feels and for that we are not unique. We are linked.
Our common experience of being, of feeling is shared with all entities that breath life.
We all have our own short ticket to the game of life.
To breathing, feeling, hurting.
A blessing surrounded by innumerable curse.
Life in the beauty of death.
We are. But not for long.
We live. But we also die.
Light fades to black.
We rise and we fall.
Like a shooting star so vibrant and bright as it streaks across the night sky leaving in Its wake a flash of beauty so elegant so vibrant only to be extinguished as fast as it had come.
Never to return.
Never to be remembered.
No trace of its glory left to the ages.
We are everything.
We are nothing.