The first question I asked was “how deep is the void?” because I had seen that we were bound to keep going until we dropped all the way through. They told me it was too deep to prescribe a number. I tried to be brave enough to ask another question, but I knew that every answer after that one would not make that one any easier to accept. So I left them to their own fall and let the weight of my frozen wings pull me closer to the unknown end – only now with this feeling reinforced that I would probably end before it did. And staring down without blinking, almost encouraged but not quite, I realised that all of my questions were pointless: there was no need for doubt nor answers; everything must have already ended.
Do we get closer to the horizon as we move towards it? Can we get away from it if we turn away from it? Do we not, in turning away, just move towards another horizon? Since time is not linear, we could split ourselves in two and fix one half of ourselves to the spot, facing the forward horizon, and send the second half away, towards the horizon away from the one that half-one faces. In permitting our parted selves this experiment, it would only be a matter of time before we spotted half-two on the horizon that it had been turned away from – on the horizon that half-one had been fixed to face. In this non-linear setting of time, we will never reach the horizon, only face ourselves on it.
I mean the river as I mean the water in the difference of meaning. As silly as it may seem to think this way, it also rains in the delta. Sillier than this though is the fact that we sometimes do not think this way. And whether our open-mouthed stance happens in reaction to the first moment of silliness or the second one, it is exactly from that mouth that the river I mean ends, because I mean water in the difference of meaning.
My conclusion is that I am still here and there has been no change to this proof for some time.
She looked out of her window and saw the rain. She knew the rain – there was no problem. She left her room and walked with the people. She went with the people and she smiled at the people – those whom she knew, those who had known her smile before. Her smile knew the people and she loved all the people. But not all the people were people yet – some were still waiting. Her smile knew the people and it made the people. This smile differentiated the people, between those who were people and those who were not people. All the people saw her smile, but only some received it. It chose the people, it made the people. Her smile was for the people and she knew all the people – some of them still waiting to receive her smile.