You are born knowing absolutely nothing, alongside every other being on this planet; who ever was born, and who ever will be born. All you have when you are born, is yourself. All you have right now, is yourself. Friends, family, loved ones, are extensions of yourself. Limbs. And when cut off, the wound hurts. Life is a dance of contrast. Your highs and your lows in a perpetual cycle. But ever since that first day, you’ve only grown more into yourself; one of a kind. A story never to be told again, one in which you get to write. You are the pen between the hand and the paper. You are what lets the story happens in the first place. Good or bad, in the end it doesn’t matter; it’s beyond good and evil. You are here right now, and in the next moment you might not be. In a reality with various paradoxes, surrounded by the concept of infinity, we lie here at the heart, at the base of the summit-less mountain in the blistering sun, still trying, and yet with an expiration date on our backs. Wings to a butterfly who may only flutter for so long. In reality we have no control on the world around us, let alone ourselves for all we know; in the face of Armageddon, it is for you to decide whether you sit in the rain, **or dance. **

• a message to a friend over discord in regards to them feeling little to no emotion anymore, 3/12/2023