Love and death. Mandatory steps along life’s journey, yet so unfathomable in their essence. When one is young, immersed in the enchantment of springtime, they both seem so distant. Love is an enchanted game of glances and fantasies; death something that only happens to others, never to us.
Yet, as the years go by, love reveals itself in its many facets: overwhelming passion, comforting tenderness, and bitter disappointment. To love and be loved is an endless challenge, a subtle balance between giving and receiving, between expectations and reality. To love is to let go, trusting the other, accepting the possibility of abandonment.
Death too, sooner or later, knocks on everyone’s door. And then the nagging question becomes relentless: What meaning has my life had? Have I loved enough? Have I left a mark, a positive trace? Have I truly lived each moment intensely, or have I let it slip away waiting for a tomorrow that would never come?
Only those who have truly loved and come to terms with death’s shadow can call themselves fully alive. Because living means accepting our fragility and moving forward nonetheless. It means cherishing the ephemeral beauty of each moment. It means staring love and death straight in the eyes, and continuing to dance on the tightrope suspended between these two abysses.
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