I feel the pull already.
The pull that somehow made the idea already feel like a distant memory.
How did this happen so soon? And what am I supposed to do now?
Because you can’t hold on to something that was never really even yours.
It’s probably true time will fade the memories, but I still feel so fucking resentful that this idea’s throat was slit and left to die
by the mercilessness that is space and time.
the void grows deeper as the potential of the idea slips away with the passing days.
Perhaps that’s what I am so angry about-the lack of control.
I’ve come to grudgingly understand the sheer power of space and time, and how often this power is not yielded in our favor.
So if all we are are voiceless chess pieces played by these relentless assholes,
then what am I supposed to do with this stubborn spirit that can’t accept such a deterministic fate?