Time

Time is the flesh and blood of death.
We've decided that Thanatos wields a scythe when he might just as well wield an hour glass.
Death whispers everywhere both introvert and extrovert; interior designs as well as the paint on the doors, in music, in photographs, in the eyes, the taste of soft cigarette scented kisses, in a shutter, in a look.
Death is what we are not, even when we are.
Humanity tends to not recognize this, i have for so long.
Yet, when we lose something so close to us, it lurks like an unfamiliar shadow.
The idea; it proves that we are still suspicious creatures.
It make us uneasy at times, but suspicion can save our lives more than we'd like to know.
The idea of ourselves is the younger we are we are more innocent, unbalanced to evil or good, noble and unselfish.
The further we progress, we change.
Nature tends to betray this idea.
The nature of our growth beats it over and over again.
We can't seem to come back to the beginning no matter how hard we try, it's beyond us.
There are so many causes one can die for.
Only so many people you can love.
But even the limit of the smartest decisions can limit one's freedom and potential.
Ringing you out downwards.
Then we lose it all.
Falling out of the image we had when we were younger.
No longer courageous or elegant, now we're ugly.
But nobility is still wandering around somewhere.
It truly never goes away.
It's a shadow that's been locked away calling us, beckoning for a release.
But even if we let it loose, be cautious of something else.
it's the progress you've experimented with. it's the other shadow.
It's that being we've made casting out purity and committed acts which are unworthy of us.