Odd how often we spend so many years weaving it, only to see the fabric of our lives shredded by our own folly, or choices made in haste, or governed by passions. Instants and seconds rather than days and years can unravel the fabric of our lives. Sometimes, we are left only with the residue of aspirations, of hopes and dreams diffused like ashes in the reality of our own inability to perceive reality. Perhaps when one falls to the temptation of thinking that one’s life no longer has meaning, we have actually fallen prey to the fear and arrogance of believing that our lives ought to have some extraordinary meaning. In reality, the actual meaning and purpose of life is to love and be loved. To be needed and adulated destroys, rather than enhances, the true meaning to our lives.