I love fireworks.

Boom. Red, blue, yellow—a rainbow explodes all at once.

Pow. The burst scatters into tiny sparkles, then disappears into the dark.

In school, we’re taught that matter cannot be created or destroyed. But for a moment, fireworks become something more. Then, suddenly—they vanish. As if they were never there.

Beautiful things are confusing. They tempt us, but were never meant to be held. Only watched from a distance. Close enough to wonder, far enough not to burn.

Does it matter that the sparks fade into nothing if beauty was once seen?

Beautiful things are beautiful—whether or not they last, whether or not we ever hold them.

Ice is beautiful, too.

Shiny. Versatile. Harmless.

Then comes a time—it melts into a puddle, or drifts away as vapour. But a change in form doesn’t erase its grace. It simply shifts: to sustain you, to humidify the breath you just took.

Observe.

Breathe.

Appreciate.