Anamnesis | David Olimpio
Everything I know is everything I've always known: Shadows are only shadows to those who've seen stars, who aren't locked away in caves, tied with chains, caught behind bars. But even stars are not necessarily what they are today, but now only light from white dwarfs yesterday, because nothing red or hot can survive this inflation, this long ago explosion and dilation. I could never drink enough to warm this mistimed chill, could not fill this continuous listlessness, this consistent malicious spiritlessness, and still our universe, everything, once tight with absence, an impossibly dense vastness, all knowledge, the very last sense, will burn off into a nothing to which we'll inexorably return, and meanwhile, I will go about losing the things to say in trying to find the ways to say them, and will go about forgetting the thing I am in trying to remember the ways I was then. Even when everything is covered in white, and up is down, and left is right, and being over is through, I won't ever feel right when I'm left without you.
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