Weariness from over-indulgence of experience

 I stared at the night sky, disjoint stars and the holy darkness binding them, I stared for eternity since I do not remember exactly when I was born, or when I would cease, and my contemplation wanted to take me outside, freer than the human idea of freedom itself, I no longer felt the summer heat precipitating upwards or the rustle of leaves imitating the grand silence, I only knew that at that moment, that exact precise moment, the stars were also looking at themselves in pristine beauty, in truest anarchy, in dissociation, in a burning glow that travels white within the blackness for thousands and thousands of years, while I stood there frozen, as if history is suddenly astonished and looks back at the past - a being experiencing itself for the simple pleasure or pain of experience through this moment, through mirrors that are nothing but us, because there is no eventuality but silence, and I feel tired, abysmally tired and let it go.