It feels as if my life is being crammed down into a haiku.
I'm sure you remember your school teacher at some point forcing you to write haiku; it seemed like a good idea to them at the time, a three line poem, the 5-7-5 structure. 'Yeah, kids can do this,' the well meaning English teacher thought, 'and more importantly, I can teach this.'
Only haiku are incredibly difficult to do well. You strip down the essence of one thought, one idea, one emotion to its purest form in 17 syllables. You ruthlessly sift and strip away everything that is not the business end of what you want to say. The beauty of a haiku is the beauty of survival- these words have survived to express my meaning; no others, out of the entire language, were fit to do so.
And in the end, it's all ephemeral. Desperately important, but ephemeral. Like life.