What does really count, the end or now? The quiet moments or the ecstatic ones? The times you fly or the ones you nearly drop dead? Between the lines of now or never, what is really.. not important (everything’s important), but an essense of this fragile thing named life?
… and is it measurable?
is it meaningful?
is it even possible to put into words?
Or are we left grasping, not for air but for this single thing. Which seems so far out of reach.
Or is it all pointless?
The choice is yours
Beleg & Edda, Toten October 2011