Before the cosmos of the observable universe, I contemplate the stars and the infinite. Now, I turn my gaze toward myself and rewrite my own story.
Amidst the night of society, like an ant before an anthill, I climb a wall that could never be seen. I erase lines from my story — lines I was never able to write, traced in my mind without the consent of my own being.
For the first time, the pencil that dictates my life and my thoughts is finally in my hands, calloused by knowledge. Not as an invitation to do everything; quite the opposite. I still see myself limited by the laws that uphold the pillars of the world. But, for the first time, I can cultivate a thought that is truly my own.
I am aware that I will never find Absolute Truth in my lifetime. I am destined to seek an understanding of the infinite with my own finitude.
Born from cosmic dust, and to the cosmos I shall return as dust.