Under the veil of night, death is just a drawn curtain

Under the veil of night, death is just a drawn curtain, a dance of shadows that silently glides on walls, we do not collapse all at once, but slowly disperse, like autumn leaves carried by the wind into the unknown, piece by piece, under the merciless cut of time, a river that slowly spills into a sea of deep silence. The young, these adventurers of untamed dreams, die the hardest, yet live with an unquenchable fire, the unknown is their friend, and truth, their guide, they are the ones who give without asking for anything in return, with open hearts, like comets streaking across the sky, in a generosity that shines like stars in the night. With every moment, we lose a drop of light, like a candle burning down to the end of its wick, but the young venture fearlessly into the unknown, defying death with the smile of a new day, for they know how to live or to die, in a devotion that leaves a golden trace in our souls. Thus, death turns into a mere echo, a shadow dissolving in the light of dawn, and life becomes a string of fragile and precious moments, that burn, extinguish, and are reborn in the hearts of the young and ever-living.