Old writing found again...

It must have been during summer, the day in which I was taught the meaning of birth, because I can recollect the refreshing chill received upon entering the cool hallways of my elementary school, a much appreciated sensation after a lunch spent piloting a swing. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Hiratchi, had our class gather in a circle around a box with holes no bigger than a pen would inflict. Inside, with glossy eyes equal in both wide expression as well as curiosity, slouched three golden puppies. Following their introduction, Mrs. Hiratchi explained that in comparison the puppies were in their years equal to that of the second grade class, and like humans, puppies are born. The rest of that days teachings, though like many memories of mine from such an age, have faded over the years. Yet one of three fundamentals I would later claim those of life, in my opinion, was brought into understanding. Though the complexities of existence are not easily placed in a mere three categories, and that which the origin of such classification escapes me amongst the flood of input that has yet to cease (nor would I wish for it to do so), I am left with the embedded phrase, “Life, love, and death: the human experience”.