On Beauty and Sadness

The more I encounter beauty in life and for all the implicit aesthetic pleasure it brings, the sadder I find that I become and I can not determine if this is a melancholy experience carried by me or if it is in some way native to beauty itself.

Flickering warmth and firefly passions soon and almost always become fading light and perhaps that is the sadness I feel – that all beauty and all life inadvertently reminds us in its presence of the overwhelming loss that its absence invokes.

On the whole we find beautiful the wrong kinds of things and in there seeking meaning or purpose and joy or fulfilment we can only ever cultivate our own discontent.

Souls are fictions in ways that soulmates are not and it is in encountering the implicit loss of longing or love and shadow of light in life itself that we ourselves must invoke and bear the significance and fragility of a core human emotional connection that we can ever understand.

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