We’re luminous lights fading into existence. We are indistinguishable in a grand specter and many of us won’t ever be seen. But that was never the point. The point is that we’re here. It’s the only point that there is. That we are here.
Greens and Yellows

Walt Whitman much?

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
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