So It Goes

Things are just that–things. You can have them, lose them, break them, burn them.

In the grand scheme of the cosmos, they don’t mean much. They are the trinkets of a distracted species, the bobbles, the widgets that keep us entertained while the universe unfolds in its vast, indifferent splendor.

Memories, though, they are different. They are the very essence of who we are.

Each moment, each joy and sorrow, neatly cataloged in the neurons of our fragile brains. These are the tales we tell ourselves, the whispered secrets in the corridors of the mind. No one can take these from us, not even the indifferent stars.

So it goes.

Reputation is an entirely different beast. You spend your life building it, brick by careful brick, a testament to your good deeds and hard-won integrity.

Then, by one swift act of folly, all comes crashing down. One misstep, one lapse in judgment, and poof! It’s gone. Reputation is a fragile construct, held together by the thinnest of threads, easily severed by the sharp blade of scandal.

So it goes.

The universe–indifferent and vast, observes us cling to our possessions, memories, and reputations. We strive, we falter, we rebuild, all under the watchful gaze of stars that have seen it all before and will see it all again.

And so, we laugh, cry, and scream into the void. We hold onto our things, cherish our memories, and guard our reputations. Because in this dance of existence, what else can we do but try to find meaning in the chaos?

So it goes.