Myths of Permanence

We etch names into stone, build towers to scrape the sky, swear oaths meant to outlast us. As if words can tether time. As if walls can keep the inevitable at bay.

But permanence is a trick of perception, a mirage shimmering just long enough to make us believe. Mountains crumble. Bloodlines fade. Even the stars burn out. What we think of as solid is already shifting, already slipping through our hands.

And yet, we cling. To the familiar weight of old identities. To love we’ve outgrown. To stories that no longer fit. We resist the unraveling, fearing that without the structure of what was, we might disappear too.

But what if we’re not meant to hold? What if we’re meant to flow? To let things leave when it’s time, to trust that what remains is exactly what should. Not less. Not broken. Just truer.

Nothing is permanent. Not even the fear of letting go.