I was here (make your mark)
And I thought that I would miss you more than ever today, and I do, but I don't.
What I fear is not remembering you, but the sinking of memory, the distance remembrance must travel.
In the darkness of night perhaps you know the feeling, I hope you do, but also that you don't.
In the end I find that I am still myself, defined by myself, enclosed by myself, and reluctantly happy to be myself.
In love with myself perhaps, with the mystery of me, the story of me, and hoping it doesn't run out.
It keeps me distant, but it also keeps me going; this idea, this mythos, this dream.
God how I miss you, but it feels more like nostalgia than a tearing pain, more like memory than misery.
The darkness grows vast and vast, even enveloping the earth, but I am still on it, I am not alone, not abandoned, not forgotten.
This pain reminds me I am alive, and that even tomorrow I will be alive, and even when I am not alive others will be.
On and on the earth will go spinning, and the lives of men will not be troubled by my passing, and after there are no more men on the earth, even then it will go on, the moon does not care for memory, nor the sea.
There will come a day where not a single entity exists that knew our history nor a shred of evidence in existence, but I hope that someone is watching I hope that someone is keeping track.
I would not forget this, not a single moment of this earth, there is no action without value.
They say that information is always lost, that it must be lost, that entropy grows over time, I fear it, the entropy, disorder and chaos.
Ah how I miss the sky and love it, yes surely do I love it.
What I fear is not remembering you, but the sinking of memory, the distance remembrance must travel.
In the darkness of night perhaps you know the feeling, I hope you do, but also that you don't.
In the end I find that I am still myself, defined by myself, enclosed by myself, and reluctantly happy to be myself.
In love with myself perhaps, with the mystery of me, the story of me, and hoping it doesn't run out.
It keeps me distant, but it also keeps me going; this idea, this mythos, this dream.
God how I miss you, but it feels more like nostalgia than a tearing pain, more like memory than misery.
The darkness grows vast and vast, even enveloping the earth, but I am still on it, I am not alone, not abandoned, not forgotten.
This pain reminds me I am alive, and that even tomorrow I will be alive, and even when I am not alive others will be.
On and on the earth will go spinning, and the lives of men will not be troubled by my passing, and after there are no more men on the earth, even then it will go on, the moon does not care for memory, nor the sea.
There will come a day where not a single entity exists that knew our history nor a shred of evidence in existence, but I hope that someone is watching I hope that someone is keeping track.
I would not forget this, not a single moment of this earth, there is no action without value.
They say that information is always lost, that it must be lost, that entropy grows over time, I fear it, the entropy, disorder and chaos.
Ah how I miss the sky and love it, yes surely do I love it.