I am afraid we’re all here for no reason.

And those we care about only exist to torture us after they die.

And eventually, we will be that burden too.

I fear so much.

We are inextricably connected; the tapestries of our lives woven together by steel threads, so that, when one rusts away, we survive yet are corroded by the same disease that killed those closest to us. Are we only here to suffer?

 

Time moves around me without slowing. What is it about my life that seems so suspended? Or is it life eternal, forever frozen in time? We are only able to see that moments have passed while watching the corpses of those around us float by. Life is sludge. It is the carcasses of all who came before, and all those who will come after. Life is me. And life is to die; death, rather a record of our passing. For, it matters little what we did in our lives, only that we die at the end of them. Death is the way of the cosmos. We live in a universe of the azoic and that fact shows us the face of our demons. We are afraid of death, but we only exist to die. Life must be an invading species, illegal immigrants, sentenced for execution by the antibodies of the universe; time, like white blood cells for every second of our lives. We are a sludge of corpses, decaying and dismal; a glacier of cold rotten carcasses; of all we’ve done only our bodies exist as testament. All our kingdoms of stone and steel are meaningless to a universe inanimate. Yet, we will be fossils.  As we fight the minutes of our lives; as we build taller, taller, and taller, and high, high, high into the skies of our universe, we refuse to see that truth. It is in death our truest deed be shown. We are like flies smashed upon a wall. No one will care of our deeds and no one is there to witness. All they would see are our smashed and maimed remains flattened by the circumstance of nature.

But, why then, do I care so deeply for those whose fate is sealed before it is made? Why do I distress over my lack of animation? Our existences framed by so much lifelessness, why do I cling to this bit of soil that I possess? What makes me struggle and despair?