It was a life, like all lives.
It was inexplicable,
it was irrevocable,
it was sacred.
And a life, like all lives,
disintegrates akin to a since-bloomed flower.
Such is its beauty,
such is its grace,
such is the unity of life.
And with every breath, a petal is lost-
thrown to the wind,
thrown to the tide,
thrown to the wolves.
But only blossom is what they see,
not the seeds,
not the roots,
not the madness.
They can’t see the way it holds on,
so tightly to the present.
So close was it, to belonging to the past,
to being burned out,
to being lost,
to being forgotten.
Because it has no way to know what causes it
to bloom,
to die,
to take another course.
This life, like all lives
takes refuge
in its ignorance,
in the unknown,
in oblivion.
For the universe is untamed,
despite our attempts
to control it,
to understand it,
to fight it.
And how wild it will be,
when left alone.