Futile Desires

 

Futile Desires... 

Futile desires are always like colorful butterflies— alluring from afar, yet insubstantial up close. In their pursuit, one squanders the precious capital of one's breath, dreams, and convictions. With every step, it feels as though the prize is just within reach, yet the distance separating hope from reality remains exactly the same as the span between childhood and adulthood— a distance, in other words, that is indeed traversed, but never retraced. Sometimes, a person spends their entire life chasing a butterfly that is, in truth, merely the shadow of their own illusion. Then, when awareness awakens, one finds empty hands and a weary heart. It is then one realizes that desires were not born to be fulfilled, but to empty us out— so that we might learn that "longing" and "possession" are two distinct realities. The end of an unfulfilled desire always culminates in a silent realization, where one asks oneself: "What was I chasing...?" "And why did I keep running...?" Then comes the realization that the butterfly died long ago; now, only I remain— beside a lost path, at a turning point where there are neither dreams nor a way back.