Human life is such a fragile thing. A thin layer of skin lies between the outside world and our beating heart and breathing lungs and brittle bones. Filled with icy blue liquid that turns scarlet when it gets a taste of the stale air, as if in shock. Some veins are visible, pulsing with rhythmic elegance so poetic no pen nor paper on earth could condense it to mortal words.
Such a fragile thing.
A slip of a knife.
One too many pills.
A breath under water.
A broken heart.
Such a fragile thing.
Life.
And it hangs on such a thin thread. That threshold between life and death. Between breathing and being still. Between light and dark. Between being and having been. The craziest part? We have the power. The power to end it all. But we choose to continue on. The bravest thing anyone can possibly do. To get up every single morning and try. Try so damn hard. That's all we can really do, is try. Because there is no one on this earth that is winning at life. There is no peak existence. There is only making it to the end, when you've done all that you could do in a lifetime and have no more left to give to the world. That is when you have succeeded. So for now, just keep waking up in the morning. Keep making the most of what you can and striving for what it is you were put on this earth to do. Keep choosing life.
Keep living, moths. xoxo
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