Shadow Heir

Another day passed, hardly noticed. The pencil did not scratch the ledger of their grey matter, yet another indelible moment elapsed. Their reminiscence is without recount. Sentiment can be a wonderful remedy or a dangerous drug. They wonder about their legacy, what that means and if it means anything. A legacy that understands a way of thinking backward. However, when the time comes, and they are gone, those thoughts will be immaterial. Memories fade, any concerns or depressions evaporated. It’s unfortunately fortunate that the present moment holds supremacy. Every breath comes with a gain and a loss, every oxygen intake allows the heart to beat once more, while also succumbing to the entropy of its own eventual cessation. At the second’s hand, they forever oscillate between the here and now; our world and theirs. There’s a rare and subtle appreciation for the instant, the now. Even through documentation it remains a remnant, proof of the moment, since passed. The record is the shackle of what once was, an attempt to maintain the present, a futile gesture, yet noble nonetheless. At a certain point, the process becomes a Sisyphean endeavor to hold onto what is ungraspable. So why do they continue in effort to materialize the present, to try to catch the wind, if it always slips through their fingers?