There are words that are more than sounds; they are whispers with meaning. Éphémère is one of them.

In French, éphémère means “ephemeral”: that which exists only for an instant, which is born and dies in the same breath. It can speak of a flower that blooms only one day, of a fleeting glance that said it all, or of a sunset that seems eternal… until it disappears.

But the ephemeral is not weak. On the contrary: its brevity gives it value. Things that do not last force us to pay attention, to stop, to really look. Because we know that if we blink, they may be gone.

Éphémère is a word that sounds like what it means. It begins with air (é-) and ends as if fading into a murmur. It has the delicacy of a feather falling, the fragility of a memory, the depth of what is not repeated.

In a world that pushes us to accumulate, to perpetuate, to freeze moments, this word reminds us that the most beautiful things often cannot be caught. Only live.

The magic of the instant. The poetry of the now. The silent promise that, even if it passes, the ephemeral leaves its mark.

That’s why éphémère is not just a beautiful word: it’s a way of looking at life.

Elle était un rêve—à peine un souffle.”* ✨