At some point in life, the years cease to matter. With no real warning, they blend into each other like the flesh of a painting. The previous, the current, and the next intertwine to form one giant knot of time. There is no point counting, what’s there to count?
What could the meaning of life be? Where exactly is the purpose of my existence nested on? Such questions sink into redundancy. Haven’t you gotten your answers already?
Off you march, time to go. Where to ?
What lies forward is eternal darkness, and perhaps even damnation. Who’s to say? After all, the ones who gazed into that deep abyss were never to be heard from again. Their testimonies never to be recorded, until memory assigned their seats to newer faces and events.
Soon, you shall join those forgotten faces. Your testimony never to be recorded. Perhaps you’ll do some pleading and maybe get back to assert your testimony through nature’s grace. Again, who’s to say really? The ones who gazed, well, you already know about those.
Maybe your case will be different. Highly unlikely, but who can argue against it. With some pleading and convincing, you might be let out.
I suppose the next best course of action is to bribe memory. It might cave and spare you a permanent spot despite the ever rolling wheel of time. But you never mattered then, why should you now, or tomorrow and the day after?
And you know, father time can’t be bribed. After he’s had his moment with you, he scrapes you off the surface.
Away you go now, I really doubt your case will be any different.
