Apr 11
I wrote a little thing about my void self.
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Nothing ever makes it out of here. It's over, and it's never begun. You're not going to die, exactly. Dying requires you to have lived, and you will never have lived; at least as far as the universe outside is concerned. But this place, it will remember. It will remember you for all of time. An imperceptible ripple in the static, a seed for the random noise. You can't see it, but you are surrounded by the remains of countless non-existent people before you.