So the universe expands, wildly, using some dark matter engine. So that's the universe, doing something that can nearly be described using M theory and bubbles. So that's the explanation.
Then there's the universe in You, that ever expanding thing that resides only in your imagination, to whit:
If this planet made any damn sense, we'd still be all together. All together now, we'd be forging the front of the wave that crashes headlong into the edge of the universe. We'd be riding the barest edge of that foamy ridge, plunging with vast speed and desperate absolution into the shore. We, you and I, would still be a thing. We'd still be.
You and I. You'd not be dead. I'd not be alive. We'd just be.
You and I.
Ninety years from now, we'd be sitting in a forest, waiting for the tree to fall to see if it made a sound.
We'd be riding the radiant edge of a supernova, basking in cosmic rays and swiftly navigating the edges of black holes.
You and I and everyone we know.
We'd be one with the one, a solid mass of barely distinguished particles, at a very close range we'd be unable to tell one another apart. You and I and everyone we know.
You'd still be alive, and I'd still be alive, and alive wouldn't mean a fucking thing.
The best I can say is, grief doesn't get over you.
The best I can say is, grief has its moments. And all of those moments like an avalanche only gain weight with added mass from the past, but memory has no mass. Memory is an illusion, a trick to fool us into understanding change, a trick to make us believe in time.
So the universe expands in the blink of an eye, faster than fast. And in that blink of an eye, in a time as brief as any, you and I are there, riding that edge.
And in a blink it's over, and yeah, there's so much goddamn tragedy there. And I still can't stop thinking about that last nth of a second where the trigger is being pulled, the hammer is on its way, the bullet is still inert, and your eyes are closed.
I still can't get past that nth of a second, so many of my thoughts, days and weeks caught on that nth of a second, caught on it like a barb on the edge of a smooth surface, snagged there forever, torn.
You fucking fuck.
So the universe expands, and we're you and I in it. We're you and I breathing and not breathing and dead and alive and on the balance of it our brief time conscious and worthy is scribbled on tiny particles exceeding any speeds we can imagine, so in the end?
Dreams last weeks between 3am and 301am. Dreams with fully developed stories, lifetimes of memories, dreams last forever in the blink between 3am and waking with a start remembering, remembering that once,
You looked at me over a freshly clicked zippo
and you said, hey,
what took you so long?
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