“Look at me,” says the man, continuing to speak from his heart, “I’m always fighting for what will one day fade, always holding onto what will one day pass between my fingers. Why do I do this?” It was his mentor he spoke to, also his friend, also the one who is dying before him. A teacher, a healer, and now a symptom to his confusion. That latter man responds, “Who knows? Maybe we’ll both find the answer when we move on.”
– Modern Romanticism