literature

Of things within

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Literature Text

What wonders lie beyond the infinite blackness so far beyond our window sills? What terrors, what mysteries, what utter strangenesses are there all around us, and yet but our minds can hope to reach so far as to grasp even the littlest bit of them, but can seldom hope to understand?

What lies there, growing, waiting, watching, like we are? What hides there, its infinite childlike curiosity stretched to its utmost, just a word away from touch? What exists there, in the folds of reality which we cannot fathom? What exists there, which we cannot fathom now, but perhaps in a thousand years?

We are so small.

So short, so seemingly insignificant, and yet we build upon another and grow and grow and grow, forevermore pushing our borders until we break them and grow even further. So short are our lives, mere blinks of an eye from the view of this planet.

Do planets dream?

Do we dream?

Where is this place, in which we dream?

Where is this place, in which the planets dream?

What do we all dream of?

Where does it end?

Does it ever end?

Will there be mysteries that cannot be solved, no matter how deep we dig into the code and DNA of the universe?

Will we one day find that solar flares are just the stars speaking to each other, yelling as loud as they can without burning the little colourful rocks surrounding them since as long as they can remember?

What do the stars speak about?

What do the stars dream about?
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