Status Updates From بحيرة القصائد الخمس

واااو ماتوقعت بيعجبني كذا

???

Okay. Who snitched.

Could homes be moved and reassembled? What about the water marks on the ceilings, the warped wood, the smells soaked into the furniture? How could we have brought that with us? What about the lives that were lived within them, the words spoken and bounced off the walls, the people who added and subtracted to the place? How could we possibly pick all of that up and drop it somewhere else, expecting it to be the same?

I couldn’t understand why I had to be protected, why the youngest must always be the child, and why all the people around me believed in the illusion that it was a privilege to live without knowledge. I couldn’t see how ignorance could ever be the safest state of existence.

The mind is a dangerous construct. What a paradoxical state of existence we’re in, where our minds can stretch across dimensions, deep into reality and far into fiction, assign meaning to everything, yet our bodies are so small and limited that I can’t touch the roof of my room. Even a marble could kill us if it hit the right spot.

‘We never get to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘Even when we know they are going to die, we still don’t really have the wisdom to accept that any conversation could be our last. So we wait until they’re gone and then it’s too late to say anything.’
Was it really wisdom that we didn’t have? I thought. Was it not courage?
‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘goodbye isn’t something you say out loud.’

Who are we if not just a collection of memories locked in a container of flesh and blood? If we ceased to exist in the memory of those closest to us, then how could we assume that we were as alive as we’d been before? It made me realise that, despite what people said about it, death was not so straightforward after all.

Time and time again, the pain of loss has proven itself to be deeper, more unabating, than the pain of not ever having.

As people grow up, childhood becomes foggy, but no matter who you ask, they always remember the weather. They forget the locations of their schools, the names of their best friends, the colours of their houses, but never the weather. Perhaps it is the tactility of the air touching skin that makes it impossible to forget. We remember with our bones, our muscles, our skin.

Time stretches everything thin. Change is a creature that crawls.

Finals are beating my ass

So that photo is a photo of the short guy. I'm guessing Sadness. Their sadness is too much to bear that they're head becomes the sun? The sadness burns through them?

Oh we’re getting the POV of the dad as well?

Is there a chance that they're unknowingly triggering it? That the thought, or a specific action, that causes it to happen? Was the funeral a closed or open casket funeral... are the ashes even his...?

I agree- a little. Digging up the tree before it passes keeps her father alive, but maybe the sun will stay overhead? (Probably not).
But, why the lake? You'll never be able to get it again, really. If the lake melts, he'll just be... in the lake. Why not put it in another place where you can reach and hold it better? Everyone's different, though.

Maybe the sun on his head killed him and burned his body and the truck... But wouldn't it have a smell, or some type of indication that a body was burned? When his head became the sun, I assume that his body still was human, at least, made of human flesh.

Also, I think he was the father of Pan's child and when he turned into the sun, Pan killed herself. Some type of bond, or relationship between them, maybe.