There are things that make you really wonder about what life is about. I mean, really think. There is a moment, for example, when all the cliché, romanticized scenarios about suffering suddenly fall by the wayside, to reveal a blunt, ugly truth that cannot be shaken or fashioned to suit your current fascinations.
You see other people with a debilitating disease, or learn of someone’s sudden, tragic death, and you feel sorry for them while thanking the stars for how lucky you are. Then you move on. You never really get the full grasp of what it means until it hits close to home, to you or a close relative or a very dear friend. Then and only then will you be able to comprehend the incomprehensible. And it’s something that can hardly be explained, only felt and known.
You realize that things happen for no apparent reason other than the one you invent for yourself, in an attempt to fill the blackest void. You learn that pain can, in fact, be abysmal, endless, enduring.
And so can love.
