지나가 | Everything Goes

Inspired by RM’s song from the album Mono

The world moves in cycles, relentless and tender, like a breath that fills the lungs, then slips away. Night gives in to morning, spring fades into summer, flowers fall, and fruit ripens. Everything, it seems, is in motion, always leaving, always arriving. And yet, within this ceaseless turning, there’s a soft ache, a truth that whispers: everything must hurt. Not cruelly, but in the way life, in its fullness, presses gently against the heart, asking us to feel it all.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how time carries both beauty and weight. The warm air I breathe in moments of stillness feels like a gift—a reminder that I’m here. But it echoes, too, with mornings when the weight of routine pinned me to the bed, each step to the kitchen a small defiance against numbness. RM’s “Everything Goes” hums in the background of these moments, its rhythm a reminder that even the heaviest days pass. Those moments aren’t the end, they’re threads in a larger tapestry, woven into the quiet work of becoming.

I meet each day like a gardener tends soil: not seeking perfection, but sowing care. Some days bloom. Others wither. Yet I tend to myself gently, persistently, hoping to grow into someone a little more grounded, a little more open to the world’s sharp edges and soft mercies. Because the truth is, people and pain pass. They slip away, as everything does, leaving behind a chance to grow, to stand taller, to breathe deeper.

In dreams, I imagine a world where everything good lasts forever, untouched by time. But dreams shimmer and fade. Morning brings the waking world, with its raw, unfiltered truths. I’ve grown wary of soft platitudes, those well-meaning phrases that urge us to “cheer up” or insist “it’s just how life is.” They fall short, not for lack of kindness, but for skimming the surface of life’s deeper currents. Life isn’t a puzzle to be solved with easy reassurances. It’s a wind to be felt, a current to move through.

So I let it pass. I let the winds of joy and sorrow, of spring and summer, of pain and healing, move through me. As he sings, “Everything goes, passing by someday,” I find freedom in releasing what cannot stay. I hold the world close for a moment, take a deep breath, and let it go. Because everything goes, someday, definitely. And in that letting go, there’s a quiet freedom, a gentle permission to be human: to hurt, to hope, to become.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of days too heavy to carry, know that RM’s music, and this reflection, holds space for you. This is my daily tending: to face the wind, to feel its sting and softness, and to keep tending the soil of who I’m becoming, through life’s relentless, tender cycles.

Image courtesy of Unsplash