It was once said that there was no end, no beginning, just fleeting gusts of actions and reaction endlessly stuck in motion. The very notion of time is akin to humans, to their state of life. Humans are born and live to see themselves slowly decay, a spark in the blackness of space. Yet, there are merely passing by the gears, being molded in individuals before fading back to the great universal engine. Time is what humans use to put value on their experience with life, numbers and abstract representations of moment that are present no more, or are yet to be.
Time is music, a composition of sort, a touch of order and a drive, time is to space what space is to a plane. Time is the tree that bears the many universes as endless branches.
What is a one life in the eternal symphony?
Not much, and yet, all lives light up the darkness. And one life can shine as hard as all of them.
Never dim your light, for it is but a passing wave, altering to another, for identity is in the pattern rather than the material. The material constantly change, the pattern evolve, but stay consistent to the arc.
We are stories to be told, moment that resonate, we are part of the music.
We must not grip, but rather follow the wind of time, and navigate the branches to where our being yearned to get.
To the fulfillment of the arc and the ending of this tale before the start of another.