Everything decays. Plans, dreams, flesh. Don’t flatter yourself thinking you are exempt. The universe cares nothing for your ambitions; it grinds relentlessly towards equilibrium, and you, friend, are merely elaborate, temporarily organized dust. Dust owns your future. Accept this.
Does this depress you? Good. Now, understand: this isn’t an invitation to nihilistic wallowing. It’s a call to action. The sand slips through your fingers. Grasp tightly. Build. Create. Love. Strive. Not because you will conquer entropy – you won’t. But because doing, fighting against the inevitable slide, is the only meaning you get. It’s the only defiance possible.
Every sunrise is a theft from the void. Every act of creation, a temporary stay against oblivion. So, what will you steal today?
Stop reading. Go.