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When I’m in a good moment, like actually laughing so hard my stomach hurts, or walking outside on one of those evenings where the sky looks unreal, I catch myself wanting to freeze it. Please, let me hold onto this forever. Because I know it won’t last. And that knowledge almost steals from it, like joy already comes with its expiration date stamped on it. But then I think: maybe it only feels like joy because it doesn’t last. If happiness were permanent, would it even feel special anymore ? Probably not.
And then there’s the flip side. The hard stuff. The nights that feel endless, the mornings you can’t drag yourself out of bed, the foggy days where you’re convinced nothing will ever get better. In those moments, the idea that “nothing lasts forever” feels like a lie. Because pain has this weird way of convincing you it’s permanent. Like you’ll never feel light again. But then something shifts, and suddenly you realize, maybe the fog is thinning. Maybe it was never forever, even though it swore it was.
So I’m stuck here in this in-between truth: nothing lasts. Not the joy, not the pain. And maybe that’s terrifying. But maybe it’s also what saves us. Because if the bad stuff can’t cling to us forever, then there’s always a chance to feel lighter again. And if the good stuff slips away too, maybe that just means we need to notice it more fiercely while it’s here.
I don’t have a neat conclusion for this. Honestly, my thoughts are messy and half contradictory. Part of me hates how temporary everything is. Another part of me is grateful for it. And maybe both can be true at the same time.
So maybe the only thing to do is this: when life feels sweet, let yourself taste it fully. Don’t waste time worrying about how short it will be. And when life feels heavy, try to remember, it won’t crush you forever. Things move. They always do.
eHowtwo 2025
