A letter from Dec 23, 2022

There is a place of infinite stillness. it lies outside of reality—the very end of time. Sometimes I think I can hear the footsteps of visitors who aren't meant to be there. Sometimes I hear the drip, drip, dripping of water untouched for thousands of years, only to be disturbed by no one for a thousand more. Maybe one day I can see what it is like with my own two eyes. Sometimes I can feel the natural, impossible, infinite stillness that stretches and resists the slow tugging of time. Maybe one day I can feel the smooth walls, the walls that stretch on forever and have no marks or drawings or dents in them. Sometimes the world collapses to a single point where it is just me, myself and the stillness of infinity. Maybe one day I get to view this place, view this shard of reality that forced its way out of the horrid chaotic world, and settled outside the universe. Sometimes my house stands still, and the rest of my mind with it, only to glance outside and realise the world went dark. Maybe I will get to stand outside for the first time. The place is supposed to be calm and still and undisturbed because this is where all meaning disappears. the silence that stretches on through the walls of this place, pierces through time and sometimes, I hear the silence follow me to my bedroom.