But it’s an idea so old and ingrained that trying to think of it any other way is also destructive. It destroys everything we thought and challenges us to adjust to what IT IS. Adjust to the idea that we will forever lose people we love … No matter what we do or don’t do. It isn’t the love itself that makes us lose or keep them. Love isn’t possession. We can’t employ it as a utility to possess people or things. Love just is. It’s just love. On its own, it’s how we as humans communicate with each other. Everything we do and say, verbally or otherwise, either comes from a place of love or a lack of it.
And that’s really all it is. A form of communication. An organic kind. An energy we are born with. We can’t fully get rid of it. But we can hide it … Use it as a shield. Or … We can use it as a light. The light will still shine even if it’s no longer dark. Even if no one is around to see it. And it will shine forever. Even after we die. But you can’t attach it to anyone. The glow from the flames can light up every crevice and nook. Show our faces, insecurities. Show us where to go. Lead us in one direction or another. But we can’t transfer the light into anyone else. We can only share it. Use our flames to try and light theirs. And hope that maybe it can come together as one unified flame, bringing a bigger light to the world. But eventually … The flame itself will burn out. Whether big or small. And what then? Do we curse it for ceasing to exist? Or do we praise it for all the years of light it provided? For all the other flames that started burning because of it?
Curse it even though we have the power to light a new flame, infinitely? Even though the flames around us are in abundance … And can continue to light the way for us, even if unintentionally?
You don’t curse the flame or the light for doing what it does naturally. For transferring the energy. You can’t curse the light that provided you with eyes to see through unfamiliar darkness. You can’t curse the light for being your guide. For lighting all the other flames that surround you and help you continue the journey even when your own light has diminished.
You appreciate it. You thank it for its gentle glow and comforting warmth. You appreciate it for all the nights that would have been darker without it, the little dance it did whenever things got a little shaky. The way it hid the parts of you that didn’t matter; casted your shadow behind you instead of in your path.
You appreciate that shit. Yes. You appreciate it. Simply because it existed and, therefore, can never die. It can never not have existed. The flame continues to shine indefinitely, even if it’s held by different hands.
And that is worth knowing to all of mankind.