the first time you are reminded that you are not immortal, it does not arrive gently. it does not come with soft wings or quiet words. it comes as a blow. sudden, sharp, undeniable.

it might be a death. it might be your own body failing. it might be someone you love collapsing in front of you. whatever form it takes, it leaves no room for pretending.

until that moment, life feels endless. days blur together, the future stretches out without end, and the thought of it all stopping belongs only to other people, not to you. then the angel appears. not with beauty, but with violence. it tears away the illusion that you are untouchable.

and in that moment you learn how fragile everything is. how quickly it can all vanish. it is a reminder to never take anything for granted. to cherish the moments, no matter how ordinary. to savour what you have, because one day it will not be there.

the angel’s beating is not meant to destroy you. it is meant to wake you. it is a reminder that life is not guaranteed, that love is not permanent, that time is not endless.

the first strike is always the hardest. but if you let it, that pain can become a teacher. it can show you how to live with presence, with gratitude, with tenderness. it can teach you to see each day as something you hold only for a moment, never forever.