To have a life that lasts a moment, to grow to maturity in a manner of minutes, to ripen and die in the span of one breath of God--therein lies my damnation, my sin, my immortality, my divinity, my eternal lesson.
For the essence of living lies not in time, but in value, and the value not in riches, but in faith. How long can I grow before I am stunted, before I am wearied, if my heart lies not in faith? And with mere minutes to spare, how quickly can I realize my lesson? For the truth of life is no secret, nay, not even to a butterfly. Perhaps it is clearer more so than to man for his abundance of complicated wants.
I, however, am a mere insect, metamorphosed to beauty, doomed to die in a single day. But that day marks the cornerstone of my creation, conquers the impossibility of an immediate conversion, manifests the mundane into the miraculous. And passing below the glittering facade of my earthly existence lies the flow of my unseen eternal thread--that which connects me, as a river to the sea, to the ethereal.
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