Imagine a leaf...
It grows on a dead branch, alone to eventually wither...
Nothing accompanies it, its fate written into stone, to eventually fade away, like another life in the world...
"O' destiny, shalt thou be so cruel, to me, a small heartbeat in this lifeless body of rotten wood... what was the purpose? Why can't this dead soul repose...?"
Eternity flows for the leaf. No signs of life nearby. In the endless forest of consumed trees, only the barely green fragment clutches to life... even if already dead inside.
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"Alone and forgotten, like a memory of the past... o' time, shalt thou condemn me to an eternal collapse? Why must I keep on reviving amidst nothing that will last...?"
The world is a cruel place. The void is all that it awaits. A maze of choices, that are all but the will of your own heart, instead the demand of something else...
Life is not a peaceful, calm stream. It's a raging, voracious whirlpool. What is the will of one, to the will of the universe? We are born to life, just to die..
...and yet... the leaf kept on living. No matter how alone, how dead inside, how broken and tattered by the merciless winds of the winter... it never withered.
"O' Mother Earth... you granted me the privilege of existence. Shalt thou be surprised, that with such, it comes the right to keep it?"
Not just a privilege. Life was a right you deserve. Life is what makes death significant. Life is... a prelude to the finality of all things...
"O' ancient dead tree... as this once populated trunk eventually will be eroded by the winds and the cruelty of time... that'll be when you'll truly die, for until then..."
...Finality is the end of your future. When your imagination comes to a striking halt. When your reality collapses into nothing. When your thoughts come to a standstill...
"...You still live with me."
...Finality, is the end of your world... the requiem to the embrace of death, upon your withering soul.
