Your wealth begins to trickle away like warm grains of sand sliding between your fingers. Each granule is a small loss,a bad trade here, a quiet market turn there, an expense you swore was temporary. You squeeze harder, desperate to hold on, but the tighter your grip, the faster it slips, until you’re left staring at an empty palm, wondering how something that once felt so solid could vanish without a sound

My grandma just sent me this