Think about all the people that came before us.
Take a walk outside.
Feel that breeze caress your face.
All the echoes of the ones that came before us, dissolved into the air that we breathe into.
We walk on paths that were once walked upon by those who came before us.
The trees we cut down are the same trees that lovers made love under.
The tree that gave fruits to all those that once passed by it.
I hear the rustle in the distance.
What happened to the laughter of the children that look outside the window that now turned into tears flowing down their wrinkled face thinking about all that happened?
All those days when time seemed to go by without ever slowing down.
Those were the days that we remember.
The days when time was just numbers on a wall.
Houses that were brought down, only to be built again.
People lived and left.
But the land never changed.
The world moved on.
We mourn the ones that came before us.
We acknowledge that they are gone.
But we never acknowledge that they were here, just like us.
Then living and now lived.
We too one day will be memories barely hanging on.
Photos locked up in the attic only to be discovered by a child.
Let your work speak volumes of who you were after you are gone.