Mortal love

As i stumble through the organized chaos that is my life. All becomes clear, so perfectly, tragically clear, there's gotta be a chick upstairs. Only in magnificent female fashion could a world be constructed with such a vast stock of irony…
Is it ironic the very thing that will surely kill us all we could also never truly “live” without? We are born cursed with realization that our glory walks hand in hand with our doom. Mortality will inevitability reclaim all we know, silence will eventually catch the wind, and light reaches its destination only to find darkness has beaten it and is patiently waiting... Mortality, our temporary bind of flesh and the one fate man is yet to illude. It claims what its filthy little pincers can grasp, all the while providing the soul with it's inerrant right to breathe, to love, to feel, and to peruse our destiny. An endless supply of borrowed moments, and as for now these moments belong to us! Your taste buds will never dance more vibrant than they do now, you will never be younger, the wine not sweeter, kisses never softer, nor you ever more lovely than you are in this moment. We are blessed to indulge within the elegance of simplicity, to find beauty in EVERY–THING knowing that NOTHING lasts forever. WaCould you explain the mysteries of love to a child? Or know the intimacy in trust without feeling the vulnerability of betrYal ? We cannot appreciate the value of life immune to the tragic depths of loss? bound by none while enslaved to all. blessed to know right from wrong and cursed with the ability to choose. We,exist within each moment, pleading seconds to reveal us which tic will be our last. you're never alive with a fear death. The most authentic thing about us is our will to live and prevail and to overcome or endure pain, to transform, and to be greater than our suffering. Only ashes of sorrow can provide the privilege to battle scars, to bloom in beauty, exist in love, and share any life worth living. Strive though the pain of payment taking solace in the universal truth that this existence remains temporary. True beauty can only exist when something is doomed, it is because we are doomed that we are ever allowed to live. The irony of love is that it can only be born by the elegant sadness of death. “For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who don’t believe, no proof is possible