It is their eyes, in the last moments of life, that always ring with the same singular truth. Regardless of the last texture at their hand, the final brush of sensation on fingertips; it may be that of leather worn down by sweat and blood, hand wrapped around a sword hilt so comfortably familiar that even as it slips from a once steady grip, fingers still attempt to grasp on tight for a final swing. Else, for others, a softer and less brutal finality - that of soft silks, clothing slipping through the wavering touch of a closing embrace. Despite age, despite race, despite all the paths, choices, challenges and other vagaries that life threw at them, it is in their eyes that you may witness, over and over, the solemn acceptance of life's end. The final exhalation of air, the sinking of a body, imperceptibly under the weight of life and its heavy burden.
So stare, if you will, as the spark of life fades out of someone's eyes. And know then, as the tears drip down your face, that it is not them that you cry for.
You cry for all of them that you shall never experience again.
- Passage from Drake's diary.
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Main post is also updated a tad. This passage has nothing to do with recent events, but something from 2013 that I never really wrote about.