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The world out there was the way it was no matter how much doubt or hope or hate a person breathed into it.
“I think we simply stop being.”
“It doesn’t bother me that I won’t be around one day,” Lukas said after a while. “I don’t stress about the fact that I wasn’t here a hundred years ago. I think death will be a lot like that. A hundred years from now my life will be just like it was a hundred years ago.”
Our actions, you know? They last forever. Whatever we do, it’ll always be what we did. There’s no taking them back.”
“And every mistake. But every good thing we do as well. They are immortal, every single touch we leave behind. Even if nobody sees them or remembers them, that doesn’t matter. That trail will always be what happened, what we did, every choice. The past lives on forever. There’s no changing it.”
Was that the way to phrase it? Always have had.
Apologies weren’t welds; they were just an admission that something had been broken.
No life had ever been truly saved, not in the history of mankind. They were merely prolonged. Everything comes to an end.
Sleep was a vehicle for passing the time, for avoiding the present. It was a trolley for the depressed, the impatient, and the dying.
“Maybe the kinds of people who try to shape the world feel like they’re smarter than chaos itself.”
