Life is long enough that nothing you do matters at all except everything you do.
It's short enough, too, that for most of us the circle of history that spreads out from the little ripples we make eventually ends and we are swallowed up into dust that turns into smaller dusts and eventually into balls of energy that collide and crack apart and cease to vibrate entirely. And then there is calm and the looping of calm indefinitely until the whole thing crushes back into itself and we start the stupid dance again, making the same good choices that lead us to love in the first place.
Dark delicates.
That is both a nice and an unpleasant thought, mostly a nice one. Mostly a nice one these rain day.
Oh life you wily one.
Life you wiliest one of ones.
(Think really tiny thoughts at night and really immense ones in the morning and nothing in between, except snacking).
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