Little solace comes to those who grieve when thoughts keep drifting as walls keep shifting and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind.
We all create stories to protect ourselves.
It is hungry, it it immortal. Worse, it knows nothing of whim.
...life's big. If you can't fix it, give it a spin.
One forgets that one is one. I must try to remember this.
Here then - the after math of meaning. A liftime finished between the space of two frames.