I'm reminded of the tragedy and gift of the species I've assumed: the gift is that we're all alive and able to feel, understand, and not understand what's around us. The tragedy is that we'll never be alone in that. Sometimes it's the inverse.
This is life. For all its darkness and all its brightness, one day only too soon, it all becomes nothing. Everything we are is forgotten as time moves on, but even unheard, our lives and legacies echo through space and time immeasurable. Then, if we've learned to, we experience simultaneous peace and absence.
It's touching, positive and reassuring to me in the big picture of things. More immediately, bittersweet; it always makes me feel so much. That is some fucking kind of art right there.
Suffering is inevitable, but so is the lack of it. Most of us do everything we can to blind ourselves to our own suffering in a bid to reach the finish line sooner, only to be regretful in the end no matter the result. Numbing oneself to suffering isn't the answer, especially since suffering will just happen anyway. Loving suffering and learning from it is closer. No answer will ever satisfy the here and now.
Happiness is a moving goalpost, incremental and subject to change by the author without notice. Nobody knows what they want. As long as we do our best to appreciate the journey, we'll find a destination, even if it isn't the one we set out for.
Humanity has a way of calling wherever it settles home.