Impermanence

Mar. 4, 2025

For days now, a strange sensation has taken root in me. It is as if I have been shot somehow, and blood is gushing through the gaps of my fingers in an unrelenting endless flow, without pause, without mercy, without any haste or hesitation, but with a measured, inevitable grace. And I can’t stop it in no means. It does not pool or clot, it simply leaves, abandoning the very me, slipping from each corridors of my body.

I checked myself. Visibly, nothing is wrong – no wound, no gash and no tear anywhere in my body, at least none that I can see. And yet, I know – I am losing something vital with every flying second.

At first, I thought it was only a passing weakness, like that you feel in some slow feverish morning. But the feeling lingers as days go by. The unseen wound grows less subtle and more evident, an undeniable presence, as if some compelled obsessions with no room for me to escape. The numbness has a tenderness to it, almost like a lullaby for a child that keeps it distracted, but I feel the discomfort all the time, and it gets stronger.

The world around me remains indifferent. The sun rises, indifferent. The wind moves through the trees making unnoticeable noises, indifferent. The people pass by, laughing, talking, arguing — oblivious to the fact that I am slipping away. And so are they. And so is everything, chasing its predetermined hour. I sometimes wonder if death is always like this, not a single moment of finality, but a slow unraveling, a quiet resignation, just as a candle burning to its last flicker of its wick, or just like the autumn leaves falling one by one until the branches stand alone, or perhaps like those once-vivid conversations, now fading into the silence of eternity.

The days fold into nights, and the nights into days. What is time but a series of dissolving frames, slipping like silk between my fingers. I sit upon the rooftop and watch the sky deepen into dusk, the stars flickering in their silent infinities, faint and unmoved. Distant memories keep resonating inside my head. Too many to grasp, yet too little to fill the void.

I close my eyes.

The world does not hold its breath for me. It does not care to ask if I am ready.

The blood flows. Clock ticks in. And somewhere, in the quiet between moments, a last drop falls. And with it, I go.

(drafted by me on March 04, 2025)