Why does everything seems so beautiful only at the very last moment?
Every colour defines its own character,
Every voice sounds clearer,
Almost purer,
And every moment is in perfect rhythm?
I guess it already was this way,
The colours, the sounds, the actions,
And I was too blind to see.
It took me the painful realisation of impending and irreversible change to open myself to all that I was not observing.
