13 September, 2016

A speck of dust in time.


We are but a small speck in infinite space, here for only a moment. Literature has explored this theme to death, and to death its writers have gone. 

My grandad was a good photographer and I may have missed it my entire life up until this point. He may not have long in this world, he is sick. What do I really know of him? In our child and teenage years, we are so self absorbed; we can't even see the end is imminent.

It annoyed me greatly when adults professed, "teenagers think they're invincible!"

"We aren't fucking stupid, of course we know we can die!" I'd scoff with arrogance, annoyed at the never ending abhorrent attitude my elders put upon me. It turns out they were right, we know we can die, but we do not feel it. When we do it hits us like a tonne of bricks. Some adults still do not fully comprehend it; a coping mechanism of sorts, I suppose. 

A near death experience, no matter how small, can be life shattering. Mere moments where air did not enter my lungs; will forever imprint upon me the fragility of the human body. 

These small beautiful moments are precious. A second captured over 20 years ago represents a time when, my brother and I, were comrades and not enemies, or strangers. A conversation, between my mother and grandmother, lost to time.

Humanity will not live forever, and this second, like many others, will float off in to the ether. 
Grab them before they go. Please.