13.4.10

Rebirth


Spring is beautiful. I often like to consider each season to be like a part of a spectacle, a rather natural spectacle. Aren't we all so fascinated by its beginning, although every beginning is a past moment, reborn into the next one; it's like it holds a fingerprint of time itself, captured in that moment of singular attention. Spring is rebirth and if there's nothing that can be reborn, it recreates, no matter how impossible that might be to create.


I always felt that when I knew that someone had just died, all my senses increased, as if drugs pumped through my veins. The light seemed brighter, the breeze felt softer, the whole life inside of me felt even more alive. The death of that person didn't just mean that a new life was born, but that my life itself was reborn somehow, in a way I couldn't really convey.

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