As the orchestra and choir sang it in its original language, the translation flashed on the screen.
The most beautiful wither away. Even the most perfect die.
I was there to enjoy a Brahms concert, just some music and I walked away with that line from an years-old poem, Nänie.
The most beautiful wither away. Even the most perfect die.
In my all my attempts to be perfect, in all of my attempts to avoid mistakes, I will still come to the same fate as everyone else. Time will pass. I will pass away. Do I want the end of my life to come with a eulogy so short, because I never attempted anything? Or do I want it to be full, even it is a life that is full of mistakes?
If you want to read more content like this, here are some more you might like:
And here are my most recent posts:
A Wren Says 
Leave a comment