In the end, it's just that.
Death.
Beginning, End. Something, yet meant to imply that you have become nothing but a shell.
I don't know what happens when we die. I know what happens as we watch someone die face value... but I don't know what happens when we die.
I don't know what death really is, in it's final form, from one's self-perspective. What anything really is.
Whether math can be a real universal concept, or some funky random way to assign completely out of this world universal values or information in the form of symbols, that became a language over time in our tenacious, clever little heads, by chance.
I only know what I think it is, what I can perceive. And I can't say for sure. I only know what my eyes know, what my ears know, what my nose knows, what my mouth knows.
What my fingers feel, what they touch and what they recoil from.
I'm perfectly fine if death is really nothingness, as paradoxical as the word nothing itself is. I lived here and now, I lived 12 seconds ago, I am still there 12 seconds ago.
AT least, that's how it seems. So, whatever. If there is another life, another place, whatever it may be, I'm also fine with that.
I'm not the one pressing the buttons here. We could even be a simulation... and yet I still don't mind.
There was a time once.
A time where I wished everything was just, just.
Set right. Not one visible or invisible mark of suffering or plight in the world. Like one harmonious calculator solving 2+2.
But, I failed to also recognize everything else.
The capacity for memories. The capacity for emotion, real or an illusion, the sheer magnitude of the strange behavior only found in small pockets of other fauna.
Thoughts, interactions, all the forces, all the physical reactions, the trickery of infraction, all the beautiful wavelengths, the actions, the possibilities, the heart, the mind, the touch, the sky, the Sun, all the planets, the galaxy, her sisters, their cluster, it's vein, it's regions... and the entire expanse of physical and metaphysical reality.
A concept of time. Time, like space. The ability to even pretend to know I know anything, to give things values and speak languages.
To stare at the sky, the boundless night sky made of glittering dust, and feel helpless, still. With all that we say we know, all that has been done in the name of whatever we name.
I look into the expanse and feel the very essence of myself fall into the void. A little Scared, a little Ambitious. Apprehensive, Curious and Lachrymal. But I continue to stare.
Still trying to throw my hands at it.
To touch it. Just once.
What is death? What is life?
Why?
Suffering gives you insight... you learn that things do not last (in the straightforward sense), are not like stone.
Even stone gives in to the erosion of time itself, let alone the elements.
I realized, that should any of that hold true, then there is already a place where x is y.
There's a place where x is z and y never occurs.
Where y can never occur because x is a before z.
And because of that, Unit Z is perfectly fine. Everyone Z is fine. I'm okay with that.
I'll sit here and be me, so that I can be me somewhere else.
Or, I'll consider the opposite; Unit Y is in a living hell. So I'd better be grateful I'm not that instance.
Or maybe none of that is real, and I'm just really laid back and at peace with things.
Cried so much when I was younger, I don't feel like I'll ever cry again.
I know no joy except the joy of being. I know no sadness except the sadness of being without meaning, relative or concrete. I know no limits except my understanding of even myself.
So Death.
I don't know who you are, I don't know why it is you keep knocking on every man's doorstep.
I don't know what it is you do.
I understand why sometimes it can be a debilitating blow to one's self emotionally, but my outlook on life is so varied... I can't feel sadness for you, Death, when you show up late to the party.
Not anymore, at least. There was a time,
but that time has come and gone.Only sympathy, and subdued joy spouts from my being, for you. Sometimes exasperation, if I felt that your entrance was unnecessary and unjust, too quick. That someone forfeit your game of chance to get ahead in another one's shoes.
I only know you never call in advance.
I only know, that there is a small chance we will never meet.
So I wait for you to tell me
Why, Death.
I wait.
