Once, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
But the next second, or after a million rotations of time, there was this colossal heaving existence. It had galaxies of burning stars rushing, black holes imploding secrets and fragile beings hanging desperately to floating rocks in between waging wars, falling in love and losing the plot.
Just like that? Yes, just like that.
In the next galactic second, all this will return to a sweet, harmless nothing. And there will not be a drop of conscience left to wonder if anything happened at all.
Nothing. Something. Hope. Despair.
We are children of apocalyptic chaos as much as we are of a blinding quiet. We are not an in-between kind.
We shine, we crash. This is our nature. This is what we’re made of. This is us.