The trees and the birds never really die. The howling wolves come back to the hunter moon. The wind doesn't die. Nor does the sunlight or the waves. We never die. Nor do our emotions.

Everything is either trapped in a cycle to come into the light again or buried till its time. The eventuality of every moment that is yet to come defines death and rebirth. In the time that we spend awake, we form a being that collects the sleeping moments of our inner self. Over the course of time, these moments arise and fall like the waves.

Relentless and infinite.