I have always wondered whether the knowledge that something is doomed renders it more beautiful, like the final song of a phoenix before it combusts into flames. If we are aware of the finite nature of something - knowing it will ultimately bring pain - should we still choose to embark on the experience for the fleeting joy and inspiration it offers beforehand? What if it is precisely because we know it is doomed that every interaction, every moment, and every feeling becomes more intentional? That we are more present, more attuned, and more appreciative? And in that awareness, everything becomes more vivid, more intense, and more profound - its fragility casting a luminous light on its beauty. Its inevitable demise imbues each moment with meaning, knowing that time is of the essence.
But perhaps believing in this is also a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. Maybe what we truly desire is a tragedy - because tragedies end in suspended, consuming, and embellished memories - where words like "if" become eternal beautifiers of the brief reality we experienced. Perhaps the fear behind desiring tragedy is the fear of vulnerability - of things being imperfect, monotonous, and bland - all things that do not embody what it feels like to be "alive". It is perhaps akin to deliberate deep ruminations and limerence - where every emotion is heightened - adding layers of depth to one's experience.
The irony in this is that all things in life are transient and fleeting. It is all perception. Yet, in that very transience, perhaps we find the deepest measure of beauty - not in spite of its eventual end, but because of it.