Midnight Monologue

Almost everything is transitory. Very little is constant, forever. The most perfect things in life are the ones which are the most fleeting. I revel in those moments, and they make me whole. But the whole is full of scope. There will be more moments that would bring perfection. I cherish them, and enjoy them as completely as I can. I don't want to carefully amass them and go back to them again and again to extract the juice of happiness and satisfaction. Neither do I want to keep them intact in glass boxes. Both of these ways appear to be two different poles, but they do meet. Touching and squeezing the moment to extract the juice and hungrily lick it is not very far from gazing at it with a longing and pacifying the self with the assurance that it will always contain the juice. In the first approach, the juice will empty someday and in the second, it will dry away in solitude. I want the third way; to taste it and carry it in my veins such that it freshly creates itself within my body and soul and my mind revels in it's sweetness. I carry it within me, but don’t enclose it exclusively for me.