Whenever I walk past the St. Therese chapel at Ela Ave., I would always see posters of those whose remains are housed inside. Last night, I saw a poster of a girl who was the same age as I was, born just a month earlier in 1992. She died just the day before.

Tonight, a friend lost a friend who was still actively responding to Facebook comments just 12 hours ago. Out of curiosity, I read one of his last posts today and marveled at the fact that the owner of these words was still breathing, his mind actively engaging, 12 hours ago while I was eating lunch with friends (interestingly, in memoriam of a great friend).

And now, all I’m starting at are what remains of him: his words.

I yield to the fleetingness of it all.