On a walk through the nearest graveyard of my city i had to stop in front of this angel sculpture. From afar it looked like any other sculpture of it‘s kind but as i came closer i realized how deteriorated it was. Fading gold and a crumbling body. The century of guarding his grave wounded him badly. I looked at him asking me why, of all of these magnificent statues, particularly this one caught my attention. Graves are memorials, remembrances of past lives. And now – to witness how even such a remembrance is dying, left me asking: What kind of life‘s traces are made to last? Maybe it is not our accumulated possessions that stay, but the example of our generosity. Maybe one day nobody will ever light a candle for us, but the fires we’ve started will keep burning in foreign lives. Maybe nobody will ever remember our name, but the anonymous kindness of a stranger instead. Even if this angel statue is fading, the reason it was put here lives on. The „immortality of love“ may be a cliché, but it is her power that is our most valuable legacy: Even a life of dutiful hard work seems ridiculously small compared to that simple touch. That gentle touch, that appeared so small, but – to the one who received it – it meant absolutely Everything. 🙏🏼 Raphael
