This is for the day I die. When I look into the glass as the captured moments drift by right in front of my eyes, I have my mother on my mind. I see her in my eyes. I see her in my smile. I can feel the hands of those who spoke to my soul, who raised me, who took care of me. The tears that fall from my eyes are not that of sadness but with memories of the beauty I managed to capture from this world. I shed a tear for each person I dreamed of meeting but never did. People who helped me without their knowledge. Music floods my being for one last time; all the songs I was able to listen to on repeat, those sounds weren’t just musical notes, no, they formed something great, something my heart would beat for. I look down at my hands, the lines lead and stretch outward. These hands which felt the freedom in the air during my solitary walks, held a cup as I tasted water from foreign lands, and carried the hearts of those dearest.
“Man strives toward reason only so that he can make rules for himself. Life itself has no rules. That is its mystery and its unknown law. What you call knowledge is an attempt to impose something comprehensible on life.”—Carl Jung (via marlkarx)