Her Anxiety
Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing Prove that I lie. Such body lovers have, Such exacting breath, That they touch or sigh. Every touch they give, Love is nearer death. Prove that I lie.
William Butler Yeats
Our anxiety is the same anxiety of all humans since consciousness developed self awareness, and it is what seperates us from other species, as far we know. Our mortality is the force that drives us to procreate, and to create, whether it is a masterpiece or a cupcake. Artists leave us clues , not only to themselves and their preoccupations , but to ourselves. When something moves us, in a way we find incomprehensible but marvellous, we are touching our own awareness of what is meaningful to us. What makes us unique, and human, specific to the time and place we are in. And it is our mortality that allows us to love fully and deeply, another . How succinctly W.B Yeats tells it, and with such beauty.
moving in time 
♥
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And our creative immortality that allows us to love fully and deeply, ourselves.
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