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|From the point of view of a TRUE immortal...what our lives look like. Makes you feel somewhat insignificant? Me too. I likes lot, and though I originally did it all in italics, I can't upload it like that. Oh well. Hope you like. I was thinking recently what this would be like as an idea for a longer piece, like a very short story...hmmmmm...||
Lives flutter before me, fleeting and brilliant with light. The fogs of eons swirl thickly, and nothing can be trusted anymore. I have too many memories, and it hurts me, second after second after second, to watch as mortals are born and live and die, all in a moment, passing quicker than one breath. Can a tear be shed for something that is gone as quick as it has come, I wonder. So many, even those who are called immortal, flickering out like a candle in the wind, only moments after it was lit.
Questions and answers. The world rises and falls in waves, following an unceasing rhythm, and time swirls into itself, unable to see the pathway out. Futility reins in the lives of those who die so quickly. I can see the fog that covers them so thickly that they never even have the chance to see the sun before their momentary life has come to an end.
And there have been so many. I have learned that there are endless more ways to die than there are to live, and I have learned that mortals see themselves as immortal, though only for a fraction of a second, a sliver of a moment.
Wind blows the fog away, in time, and I have seen the moon shine over clearest water, and seen lives flicker and die, melting into dust to be forgotten in an instant.
Patterns weave in and out, creating a tapestry of time. I can see the weave, the thread, the needles. I can see the fraying edges, and the stitch after stitch after stitch after stitch after stitch, all the same.