We spend our lives fussing about trivialities, fighting for impossibilities, weeping over the ruins of broken promises, attaching our expectations to the unexpected, pretending that the secret to fulfillment lies in the heart of all the things we cannot reach. We walk around staring at the ground, forgetting how bright the stars shine, how the horizon turns red at sunset, how the trees change into their autumn uniforms. Consumed in shallow acts of socializing, hiding our deepest desires to protect fragile egos, seeking to attain immortality by preserving our souls in formaldehyde.

Till, one day, we'll leave this world behind, and what shall remain? Only a few fading memories; stolen moments we could have experienced, but wouldn't dare; oceans of tears we were to proud to cry; wrinkled bodies rotting behind shiny armour; screams of despair echoing above deserted highways; adolescent dreams frozen like sculptures of ice, already melting. No big words or grand victories, none of our precious dignity, no trace at all of the pain we endured to stay in control, not even a bleak reminder of our supposed strength and unmatched bravery.

If you were to die tomorrow, would you really wish to take back what you willingly surrendered, expecting nothing in return; would you feel ashamed for seeming weak, childish, clumsy, loud, obscene, confused and imperfect? Or would you simply mourn for the joy, the sorrow, the fear, the danger, the passion you could have cherished, letting them mark your ephemeral flesh with the beautiful scars of a vulnerable but vibrant existence, instead of locking yourself in cold rooms- flawless, composed and alone- whilst time kept pouring in like water on a sinking ship?