It's funny, for the longest time I've been perfectly comfortable knowing I could die at any moment. I could walk out of this room and be shot in the street. I've always been fine with that.
But lately I can smell it in the air around me. Like death is slouching towards me from the corners of the room. And I cannot tell if it is here for me or just an echo of the past.
I wish it hadn't been you. It would have been so much easier.
-James Spader as Raymond Reddington
It's thought that even the quietest sound made at the beginning of the universe still echo's during the end of it and you can find it if you have sensitive enough equipment. But even if the equipment is never invented and no one even thinks to look, that sound still repeats endlessly, somewhere, even long after whatever made the song is gone.
I guess that's what this account is supposed to be. My echo. I make all this noise and write all these words, knowing no one would hear it. Still, maybe someday, eons from now, someone might grow curious and develop sensitive enough equipment and hear my echo. What then, I wonder, will they think? Will they understand? Will they feel the same? Will they cry out in harmony with me? Perhaps we'll form a choir of broken souls, strewn across space and time.
Are they already there? Do they see me? Do they understand? I hope to meet them, I've so much to get off my chest.