The world is over already.
From my balcony that overlooks
the sea, the mountains, and the city,
I see
the world is over already.
“We only get to live once,” the first man said. “More accurately, we only get to pretend to live once,” the second man said. “Not us,” the third man said. “We don’t get to live, not even once.”
“We are but memories,” the first man said. “More accurately, we are only until we’re forgotten,” the second man said. “Not us,” the third man said. “We are erased, remembering things without traces.”
Death is silence.
Our silence is different.
Our silence is the noise they no longer hear.
Death is sleep.
Our sleep is different.
Our sleep is eternal, yet we keep on snoring.
This piece was originally published on September 21, 2026 on Substack.