I can understand the power of faith. To feel the cold kiss of the void is to wish for any way, and do anything, to avoid such a fate and feel the warmth of a loving and just god. This is our lot. To know we are so special, and to suffer every evidence to the contrary. The only hope one could find is in building or ensuring the the propagation of something greater. Something that transcends this world. Or to simply suffer every day knowing this world holds just pain and disappointment punctuated by tragedy. To have the realization that nonexistence is a preferable alternative to playing a bit part in a cosmic farce as cruel to us as we are to the lesser creatures around us.

Every moment is a death. Time’s march becoming shorter, waning in fervor. Every moment the death of not just a second. A soul leaves a body a thousand miles away, or in the next room. Entropy will have its payment. Every one of these seconds another cell dies in a fruitless division attempting to create some pale shadow of immortality, to buy another moment in time. Every living thing wanting it’s mark on the world to be made by being the last life, the first one to truly die alone. This is it, the futility in the whims of those doomed to death. Even the stars pay back their eons of borrowed time. Nothing can survive the eternity. Death itself will one day fall on it’s blade. The atoms will even one day be rendered, their constituents separated and made rigid in the cold. If there is something here it can never be destroyed. If there is nothing then, then there is nothing now.