I've always known that at the core of every human connection lies parting—doomed from the start, like a promise written on the wind, gone before it ever lands. So many of my bonds bloom and wilt before dawn, like dew evaporating quietly as if they'd never dampened a single sleeve.
Over the decades, we keep recognizing each other in passing, only to drift apart again. Sometimes a glance, a word, a brief moment of sharing an umbrella in the rain makes us mistakenly believe we can stay a little longer. But people are more like two clouds—overlapping by chance, then blown to separate skies. We briefly reflect each other's colors, but we can never become a permanent fixture in someone else's horizon.
Those late nights of intense conversation, the moments we shared a favorite song, even the afternoons when a single joke made us both cry with laughter—they happened, truly. Yet they're like words written in sand—once the tide comes, nothing remains. We meet, we forget, we become a fleeting stroke in someone else's life. And they, to us, are exactly the same.
Sometimes I think the tenderness and cruelty of life are two sides of the same coin. It lets us connect in an instant, then pushes us toward the next unknown. We cry, not because we've stopped believing in the beauty of meeting, but because we know too well that no matter how beautiful, it's just a rainbow with a very short lease.
And yet, I would still raise a glass to you, and to every brief encounter. Even if it's like dew or smoke, here one moment and gone the next—the sincerity of that moment is something no one can ever erase.
Day 187 of 2025
I've always known that at the core of every human connection lies parting—doomed from the start, like a promise written on the wind, gone before it ever lands. So many of my bonds bloom and wilt before dawn, like dew evaporating quietly as if they'd never dampened a single sleeve.
Over the decades, we keep recognizing each other in passing, only to drift apart again. Sometimes a glance, a word, a brief moment of sharing an umbrella in the rain makes us mistakenly believe we can stay a little longer. But people are more like two clouds—overlapping by chance, then blown to separate skies. We briefly reflect each other's colors, but we can never become a permanent fixture in someone else's horizon.
Those late nights of intense conversation, the moments we shared a favorite song, even the afternoons when a single joke made us both cry with laughter—they happened, truly. Yet they're like words written in sand—once the tide comes, nothing remains. We meet, we forget, we become a fleeting stroke in someone else's life. And they, to us, are exactly the same.
Sometimes I think the tenderness and cruelty of life are two sides of the same coin. It lets us connect in an instant, then pushes us toward the next unknown. We cry, not because we've stopped believing in the beauty of meeting, but because we know too well that no matter how beautiful, it's just a rainbow with a very short lease.
And yet, I would still raise a glass to you, and to every brief encounter. Even if it's like dew or smoke, here one moment and gone the next—the sincerity of that moment is something no one can ever erase.