The thrill of a few untethered steps in a few seconds of freedom is often more affirming than endless immortality; sadness is often more liberating than unbridled bliss, and communion with fire-breathing dragons in the wilds – if only for a short while to embrace their reptilian sternness – is often sweeter than a lifetime behind our fences.
Is there no virtue in running wild in a final moment of colourful blazing glory? Is there not as much beauty in a final spark as there is in a bonfire that lasts all night? Why are we so caught up with making it, hanging in there, and lasting? Sometimes, the things that ‘last’ are paradoxically bound up in the things that don’t.