As we stare into the deepest oblivion of nothingness, the only thing which seems distorted is the complete clarity of confusion. The deafening silence only gives way to the soft explosions of new memories — memories of the future.
When an imagined life becomes an oddly-familiar reality, the only option providing stability to the unstable knowledge of certainty is the comfort of the unknown.
Sometimes, the best kind of knowledge is optimistic ignorance. When days feel like years, and an hour stretches on for decades, the only truth to be had is the truth of what is intangible, uncertain, and unfamiliar.
The only concept which simultaneously fills me with doubt and hope, clarity and confusion, comfort and regret.
The only thing for which I have no doubt; the only thing for which I have no proof.
The only thing I need to live; the only thing in need to die.
The beginning, but not the end; the end, but not the beginning.
(…or something like that.)
Category: Narrative of Life