Rewind

I often think about the end of time. I try to imagine what it would look like to stand at the edge of existence. I see a wall that shimmers like black water on a starlight night. I touch it and its cold but I feel nothing on my fingertips.

Will there be eyes to see at the end of time? I doubt it. Whatever that end looks like there won't be a witness to it, save the celestial bodies floating in negative space inching ever closer to their nonexistence.

I often think about the nature of time itself. I try to imagine that no choices matter as we progress down this track. In this life then becomes a series of pictures playing slowly before our eyes. No motion from our bodies make the pictures change, no outside force pulls at these strings.

What then do we do in the meantime?

Drift slowly down the river...

I touch the black waters, twinkling with the light of a million stars. My hand is cold. What does it mean?