I think about the melodrama of my life, the so called problems that seem so solid, real and long-lasting, and words that someone told me ring in my mind: “We will all be dust at the end of it.”
It is just another dust cycle. I chuckle. The “problems” no longer seem so immediate and hard pressing, shadows of themselves. Ego dissipates like a cloud of dust. Ah, the power of perspective.
A loved one who hurt me. A friend who turned out to be toxic. A friend who is not in touch. A neighbour who seems annoying. All mellow drama. All emptiness. All just another dust cycle.
We shall meet again. Burned bridges are just an illusion. However this time perhaps try to love, not to burn?
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