In the beginning, we are born in our purest form. We then become ourselves during the stage between caterpillar to butterfly, so colorful and full of beautiful possibility, and we believe, with the blindest of hope, that we’ll be perfect forever. That time is endless. That there is a multitude of chances, of opportunities. Until one day, the reality of mortality settles in deep and dark, and we suddenly become aware of how limited we are. It is all so black and white. There is no grey. We live and we die, and there’s nothing more to it than that. But God, isn’t it still so beautiful?
