A tribute to things that are dieing, but haven't yet.

[Hornshire]

Cycle. Circle, if you prefer. Lions tend to. A child is born. A rock makes it way around the sun. Rinse, repeat.

 

It's an odd feeling, when you realize that the last time you had a meal was in fact the last time.

 

Menus change. People get older. Paths diverge, but the difference is all in your head. All directions head towards The End.

 

Hypothetically, there is now one additional light waiting, baiting breath, to be put out. The wish remains the same though. It's still in your head.

[Hornshire]

You say that as if there is some viable alternative.