...and when they leave, as we all will, we leave all behind. Only flimsy memories linger in our wake...brutally weak, threatened by the casual natures of fashion of this world. And so he went as well. My friend. A man who leaves behind a daughter, family, friends. We have his memories. We shared them. We will keep them. But that is all. It is within this we must be. Our memory is all that is behind. Perhaps a stone; perhaps no stone.
That is why the night's chill scares us in the blush of youth. We fight it, we protect against it. We do what we must to elicit warmth. To our ancestors warmth was hope. Fire held promise. We would live another day. Now fire comes in many forms, it still does the same. But, in the end, it is but a phantom. Shadows of life, reality is there somewhere. We chose not to see.
Do we really see those around us - not in shadow, but in essence? I doubt most of us do. It is not our nature. I try. I really do. I've seen the essence of souls, because I choose to. I would tell you what I see, but it is of no import.
These are all but shadows, and we retain them in a closed hand.
