On a Saturday evening, during the twilight hours, when the stress of the weekdays is gone and the anxiety of the coming Monday is still 24 hours away, read this in Werner Herzog’s (or Sir Anthony Hopkins if you prefer with the imagery of Dr Robert Ford) voice:
In the vast expanse of existence, the world presents itself not merely as a physical space of land and sea, but as an infinite cemetery, a silent keeper of a billion stories now forever hushed. Each story, a universe unto itself, harbored hopes, dreams, fears, love, and indescribable sorrows, moments of clarity drowned by inevitable oblivion. These narratives, woven into the very essence of what it meant to ‘be,’ thrived on the existential belief of making an indelible mark upon a world that moves unrelentingly forward. Yet, here lies the profound absurdity: amidst this eager search for purpose and meaning, all stories, regardless of their fervor or triumph, eventually dissipate into the ether of forgotten tales. This recognition does not beckon despair, but rather a liberating acknowledgment of our transient passage through time, compelling us to live authentically and fervently, for we are the narrators of unwritten stories in a world that will, one day, claim them back into its silent, vast anthology.
I dedicate this corner to all the travelers who are and will eventually be a part of this eternal graveyard.