We Spread

by Iain Reid

But without them, my little feet are too cold.

Tee hee

Gorky

Aaaaah

“It’s hard to care in the same way,” I say. “It’s impossible to be that excited forever.”

“We all have our own work, but the days feel the same for us. Space and time are misleading. Think about equivalent fractions. The fractions that have distinct numerators and denominators but are equal to the same value. Three-sixths and four-eighths are both equal to one-half. They’re all the same.”

“This lie is one about life, that we need more of it, that we need to be more productive, produce more, that it has to be longer, that death is the enemy. It’s not true. Infinity is a breathtaking mystery, or so I used to believe. Now I know it’s not. Infinity is stagnant. It doesn’t expand. It can’t. It’s just immeasurable. It’s not a mystery, it’s simply endless.”

The tragedy of life isn’t that the end comes. That’s the gift. Without an end, there’s nothing. There’s no meaning. Do you see? A moment isn’t a moment. A moment is an eternity. A moment should mean something. It should be everything.”

What I’ve done is enough. It’s beautiful only because there’s an end. There are so many things we can just let go. Tant de choses à laisser aller.

We do not all blend together. We are not ruined, helpless, a burden. We are not the elderly. We are not old people. Now, still, we’re unique. Distinct. Regardless of what we’ve produced or what happens to our bodies. We each have our own memories and experiences, even if they’ve been lost and forgotten.