The Eternal Banquet

If I could — only if I truly could — I would write a list of letters: one to Time, one to Life, one to Death, one to Love, one to Memories. To Time, I would ask: stretch a single night into a thousand years. To Life, I would plead: slow down, take your time. To Death, I would whisper: strike another name from your list. To Love, I would beg: dwell longer in the empty spaces. To Memories, I would cry: hold fast, last longer. And in each letter, I would send an invitation— to come visiting in their best apparel, just one night to dine with me and everyone I know. Sit at the table, relaxed, freed from eternal duty. See the life I have lived with the time I was given. See the love I hold for those Death has taken and those she will come for. See how my memories can never truly embody them. And when the night is over, I would ask: Why? Why, Time? Why, Life? Why, Death? Why, Love? Why, Memories? Why do you have to take it all? Why must we lose it? We run, we toil, we bleed, we fall. And after the race— why do we win, only to lose?