it makes you wonder: death is nothing but the result of accumulated days, weeks, months, years. and it’s difficult to accept because we don’t understand it, and it’s a concept as foreign as life’s origin, yet we try so hard to define it within our own realm of knowledge. because there’s nothing more terrifying than treading blindly into the unknown—we need to know, rather, we need the reassurance that there is some purpose, some reason for life, some indisputable fact that us being here on this planet at this time in this universe is the right thing, the good thing. and when we realize that perhaps there is no answer, that we must forever live with this question, we panic, because it is like floating a few inches above ground, uncertain if these feet will ever touch something solid.
why do good people die too soon? are our lives given to us as lessons for the future to learn? life must be more than the service of happiness, and if not, what is the point of happiness if it will be inevitably taken? is there a point in simply being? are we here to evolve into something greater? do we each play a role in furthering this strange gift? endless questions, repetitive questions. they’re all the same.
and yet… balance. one of the great wonders, and one that should be taken seriously —life comes with death, as light comes with darkness. it’s the most frustrating and gorgeous piece of work in this cosmos. perhaps that comes with living—we must constantly struggle and fight between two ends—and from that, we learn, time and again, that maybe the question of life and death is unanswerable. perhaps the beauty is that we never stop asking it.