i have come to realize that in the vast expanse of time, our attempts to leave a mark are as fragile as whispers in a storm. every effort to etch our existence into the fabric of history seems destined to fade, swallowed by the relentless march of days. i ponder the irony that the legacy we strive to build may ultimately be nothing more than a fleeting echo, lost in the vast void of what once was.
i wander through memories and forgotten names, questioning the significance of our deeds when the tide of time erases even the most vibrant footprints. our dreams, our creations, our struggles—all become mere dust in the endless cycle of beginnings and endings. it is a quiet despair to acknowledge that no matter how fervently we strive, the legacy we leave behind is bound to dissolve into obscurity, leaving behind nothing but the silence of forgotten ambitions.
in the solitude of my reflections, i grapple with the paradox of ambition: the yearning to matter in a world that seems indifferent to our existence. each effort to create meaning is met with the harsh reality that the future cares little for the imprints of the past. the pursuit of leaving a legacy becomes a bittersweet reminder of our impermanence—a delicate dance between hope and the inevitable decay of all that we hold dear.
and so, i continue forward, acutely aware of the futility that shadows every step. yet in this acknowledgement lies a peculiar kind of freedom: a release from the burden of expectation, and an invitation to find solace in the transient beauty of the present moment.
thoughts of a dying athiest 