why does everything good feel temporary?

You can’t hold onto everything. Sometimes, the beauty is in the fading

I don’t know when I started preparing for endings in the middle of beginnings. Maybe it was after losing something I didn’t expect to lose. Maybe it was just the buildup of all the little moments that once felt permanent and weren’t. But now, even when something feels good, even when I feel safe or full or loved, there’s a part of me waiting for it to disappear.

It’s like I hold happiness in my hands and immediately start measuring how long I can keep it. I wish I didn’t. I wish I could live inside joy without anticipating the ache. But the truth is, my joy has often been short-lived, people leaving, moments slipping by too fast, peace turning into confusion overnight. And so I brace myself. Even in the softest parts of life, I’m already practicing the goodbye.

I envy people who don’t overthink their happiness. Who can live in the moment without trying to predict when it will collapse. I try, I really do. I tell myself to relax, to breathe, to stop checking the sky for storms when the sun is still out. But it’s hard. When you’ve been caught in the rain before, you learn to keep an umbrella nearby, even on the clearest days.

There’s this kind of grief that comes from loving temporary things. Not because they go, but because you never fully let yourself enjoy them while they were here. And that’s the worst part, not the ending, but the fact that you were scared of the ending the entire time.

Sometimes we ruin beautiful things by thinking we don’t deserve them.

There are moments I look back on and realize they were everything. But I didn’t know it at the time. I was too busy wondering what would come next. Too busy worrying if it would last. But the laughter, the silence, the safety I felt, it was real. I just didn’t let myself feel it fully. And that’s what I want to change.

I want to stop treating happiness like a test I might fail. I want to hold soft things without gripping too tightly. I want to let love in without rehearsing for heartbreak. I want to stay in a good moment and not run from it just because I’m scared of how temporary it might be.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself: what would happen if I just trusted the good?

What if I let it be simple?

What if I stopped calculating how long it’ll last and just let it be real while it’s here? Maybe the key isn’t to make it permanent, but to make it matter. To let it fill me up even if I know I can’t keep it forever.

Because maybe not everything is meant to stay, maybe some things are meant to arrive. To teach us. To soften us. To give us something to hold onto later, when things get dark again. And maybe that’s enough.