Another Existential Tale

She imprints her existence through writing. She freezes time through photographs. She plays with eternity by wasting her days. 

I can live forever.

And then the human condition catches up.

Her body decays. The once magnificent homo sapien is forced to tremble at the force of nature. She reaches out to other social creatures. Pull me back to life. But the space between beings widens as her clock is counting down to null. It is as if the universe is playing tricks on her. She could’ve had everything. 

But nature is not wired for empathy.

And just like that, she slowly fades away from the hands of the breathing.

Humans are social animals- up until Death forces the social animal to go forth alone. This is the human condition.

But who is to say death is meant to depress?

The human condition may sound like a tragedy, but strip it down to its core and one sees pure perfection.

The beauty of mortality is it adheres to the principles of balance.

Without space, colors are meaningless.

Without distance, reconnections are taken for granted.

Without the reality of death, life is one blank canvas devoid of depth.

It is Death, which accentuates the gift of Life.

Artwork: Prunier en fleurs, 1948 by Henri Matisse