Dispassion

 Once you watch everything from a distance, even the desolate mornings, even the desolation itself, or the one who experiences it - a certain ease sets into being. Understanding that nothing ever lasts apart from the ancient urge to survive in the face of eternal doom, Man finally is born, suffering is born. What is life but the simplest kind of droplet inside the ocean, the breeze that blows and outpours itself to death inside the atmosphere in which it was born, the fire that eats away its own mortal candlestick, where human happiness and human despair were tradable instruments which were passed from generations to generations beyond while people start to talk mindlessly about ecstasy or suffering but never gaze into any of them out of sheer fear, because once you gaze into the depth of anything then everything dissolves into pure nothingness, and you live and I live and we all live in a shell - playthings for eternity with which she started to play but forgot instantly and never cared thereafter.