There was someone, once, who hoped for a small thing.
Smaller than power. Smaller than a throne, or a crown, or a name that would outlast the stars. Only this: that people might know, while it was happening, that they were living through the good times of their lives.
Because most only learn it afterward.
They live through the good times the same way they live through ordinary days. They eat the meal and taste only that it is warm; they sit at the table and hear only the noise; they hold the small hand in theirs and think about tomorrow. And only later, years later, looking back from somewhere colder, do they understand. That was it. That was the best of it. That was the time they would have given anything to return to.
By then, it is already gone.
So that someone hoped people would take a moment. Just a moment, in the middle of it all, to stop. To look around. To realize where they were standing.
To appreciate it.
