sol.ace_r

People live knowing, however vaguely, the expiration dates of the things they hold.
It’s not printed clearly like the date on food packaging,
yet somewhere deep inside, we sense how long something can stay with us
and when it might end suddenly, without warning.

An expiration date always assumes an end.
There was a time when that thought felt chilling.
But as I’ve grown older, my thoughts have shifted a little.
I’ve come to understand that because everything has an expiration date,
I’m able to look at it more closely, more deeply.

No emotion exists without an expiration date—
not love, not hatred, not disappointment, not expectation.
Some emotions spoil far too quickly,
while others linger far longer than expected.
And some emotions, which seemed to have ended long ago,
resurface unexpectedly like an old snack forgotten in the back of a drawer.

Once, I found a drink in the refrigerator that had expired by several months.
I knew I should throw it away, but I held it for a long time.
Because the moment I bought it, the person I was with,
the air of that day—
all of it came back to me.
In that moment, I understood a little:
something past its expiration date isn’t just “spoiled”—
it’s a small fragment of a time and emotion once touched.

There are moments like that between people as well.
When the expiration date quietly passes, a relationship loses its shape.
You no longer share the same warm conversations,
nor lean on each other as naturally as before.
But that doesn’t mean the time was meaningless.
A past relationship isn’t something to “throw away”—
it becomes a layer that completed who I was at that time.

I’ve long believed this:
an expiration date is closer to “temperature” than “end.”
Things usually spoil when they become too cold,
too hot,
or when we fail to care for them properly.
But the ones kept at the right temperature
retain their flavor and light for a long time.
Emotions, people, relationships, and the heart are the same.

We often believe certain emotions will last forever—
especially happiness and anticipation.
But it isn’t wrong for something to reach its expiration date.
Every emotion is precious because it was sincere in its moment.
Having passed through that moment,
I become a little deeper than before.

Two thoughts come to me whenever I think about life’s expiration dates:
because things are fleeting, they’re delicate;
and because they hold affection, they’re warm.
These two sentiments seem to point in opposite directions,
yet in the end, they lead to the same place:
“Because it will end someday, it is whole right now.”

Things with expiration dates are beautiful.
Only when we know the end can we finally hold them properly.

I no longer fear endings the way I once did.
As relationships change,
as feelings slowly cool,
I can look more calmly at the layers of time and warmth contained within them.
So I become more honest, more gentle,
and I try to treat people with a more accurate temperature.

All of us carry different expiration dates for the things we have,
and none of them are predictable.
But one thing is certain:
an expiration date does not diminish value—
its finiteness deepens the meaning of this very moment.

Today again, I open the shelf inside my heart.
Some things there have already ended,
some are still warm,
some are unopened boxes of emotions,
and some are sealed again after being hurt.
All of them are times that shaped me,
and all of them are emotions that once kept me alive.

Perhaps the fact that things have expiration dates
does not mean they end—
but is simply another way of saying,
“Love this moment more.”