A thousand yesterdays hum beneath

My skin,

a thousand tomorrows

Swell in my chest,

vast as the tide —

A crushing weight

rushing forward, slipping away.

I stagger beneath

Their weight,

the relics of hours long buried,

the specters

Of moments unborn—

each one a grain of sand,

each one a universe

Collapsing inward,

demanding to be held,

To be known,

To be mourned.

But what is a mountain to the sky?

What is a wave to the sea

That has swallowed ten thousand more?

We are footprints on a shore

Where no one walks,

ink spilled upon a parchment

Far too vast to read.

We press meaning into the meaningless,

Carve are sufferings into the wind.

we shout

Into chasms that do not answer,

as if the void is listening.

As if silence will hear us.

The world stretches, infinite—

until it isn’t.

A marble lost to time…

spinning in the hollow of a celestial palm,

drifting toward fire, toward ruin,

Toward nothing.

One day, the great ribs of the cosmos will crack,

the lungs of time will empty out,

the stars will shatter

Like brittle glass.

and what then?

Will the ghosts of our laughter linger in the air?

Will the echoes of our weeping

Stain the ruins?

Or will it all vanish, like missed

Fleeing the morning,

Or a flickering flame?

Perhaps there is no purpose,

no golden thread tying us to something greater.

Perhaps we are only embers

Adrift on a tide that does not know

Our names,

Sparks of a fire already dying.

And yet—

if the void does not see us,

if the stars will not remember,

then let us love,

let us rage,

let us feast and ache and burn,

let us dance upon the trembling edge

of nothing,

until the cosmos swallows us whole.