Life, a flower as precious as it is fleeting.
Soon, a matter only of time, we all will be stolen away to a place hidden from the living.
I implore you, make not your mark upon history or upon dreaded textbooks, but rather brand your own presence upon the hearts of those who meet you.
There is such a beauty in the moss of decay, and the loss of a life.
Tears of such nature are fleeting, they much be cherished as much as their cause.
I speak from experience beyond my scope to communicate.
This pain of my shattered heart and wrenching gut calling out to the very fabric of my self as I struggle to pen these words.
My absence from writing has been caused in part by one loss after many more.
My failings echo pangs of guilt, each stab as though shards of stained glass.
Beauty in pain.
Eternity in an instant.
Love in loss.
Loyalty in life.
Splendor in ashes.