In the end our 3 dimensional bodies are worn down by consistently crashing through the fourth dimension. Unable to distance ourselves from time, we are torn by it. Like a road, weathered by the rains, we become harder to navigate. What was once smooth sailing is now interrupted by a series of potholes that should have been fixed, but stay strong.

In the end we look around and see the wear and tear of time with a kindness. We begin to see the beauty in the ways our frayed edges lost their newness. And as we learn to love our flaws, we learn to love other’s flaws. And as we see the cracks, we begin to swerve around the potholes, driving with care, picking a simpler route through the fourth dimension. We begin to try and navigate time better.

And even then the chaos refuses to let up. And we, too, continue to whither and break. Until our bodies can take no more of this assault and we lack the energy to make it past the next plank frame. And the rest of the human race is forced to continue this pilgrimage through time within us (for they, too, have no control). They continue to carry the bits of us that they can with them – our names, special items, memories and such, until they lack the strength to carry them any more or they too are left behind by the rest.

In this way it is a kind of friction that causes our inevitable decay. We, the last voyagers of a dying cruise, sent to see if there is an end yet all we have found is that it continues. That there is no way to stop it and no way to stop it from stopping us.

And it is this silent despair that we must all give in to in the end. To do battle with it is like waving your fist at a storm, begging it to stop. You’ll only get rained on. It is this inevitability of everything that you see deep and dead in their eyes. That creates the void that absorbs all the hatred you throw into it, yet still has room. That has formed the madnesses that surround us. Every single one of us, making decisions around how to carry on before the inevitable find us. Like Dickens we refuse to wait for it and so it refuses to wait for us.

And so we dance, moving forward, ever forward, toward the end of time.

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