The end of something beautiful

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I am bleeding, for no other reason but to bleed. Because the joy we get is rooted deeply on our own individual suffering. When the time finally comes, of tallying and proving feedback and reckoning, all the minute details coalesce into a vichyssoise of abstract being. Of me, in my most fundamental sense. Of who I am in a grand scheme of things. My inua in effect. That being the conscious energy that engulfs you and me both. From the beginning of time relative to which time, and to an end that may never even exist. At least not yet.

Whereas history is concrete and absolute, the hereafter is tentative and mercurial.

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