The Little That We Do
You seep down into the sludge and bathe with shadows. You sink into the graveyard of memories, and are caught. Life goes on.
You kneel upon that aching grace, which shatters and restores you. By its fragility, you are relieved–and pained. The sun walks on.
Like a star, sweet and small, you guide none but the hearts that have been led away by you. You may only exhale, for a countable number, yet for this one unbelievable little blip, you are here.
Your tomorrow will be there. Then it will abruptly, not. You must take comfort that it will be, for some stranger else, in the stream of humanity that churns on and on, that will not die for any one moment, no matter how significant, for it must be above all to be this horrifyingly cruel and breathtakingly beautiful.
And so we swim, in the grand map of Design, invisible. A pinprick in the eye of the World-Holder, forever leaving and leaving for the unseen and incomprehensible.
And in our wispiness, we exalt.