The first day of school. The last page of a book. The clean break of a goodbye.

The comfort of control: over time, stories, and self.

Beginnings and endings become absolute truths. Points we can circle on a linear timeline, frame in a video, verb in a sentence. What if every beginning is just a continuation, every ending merely a shift in perception?

A “first kiss” exists because we decide it matters more than the glances, texts, butterfly-in-stomach sensations before it.

A breakup might feel like the end, but grief can echo longer than the relationship ever did.

Birth isn’t even the beginning of your existence. Your cells existed before you, your mother dreamed of you before you were real.

Death, too, is not the end for others still part of your memory.

可能他也是吧

Time is the most non-linear thing to exist. It smears. Overlaps. Repeats. Folds in on itself. So beginnings and endings?

Illusions. Unreliable sources of meaning.

But the process. That’s real. You feel it.

An inhale. A footstep. A conversation without a lesson.

“You can’t step into the same river twice.” — Heraclitus

You are not starting over. You never ended. You are just swimming.

逝者如斯夫，不舍昼夜