Do you ever dream where tomorrow could be today? Where the misconceptions of your perilous undoings can finally become whole? Where? Where is the rest that is craved by life? When can fantasies end up unbinding and become a reality? Eyes will glisten in the sunlit morrow, until they dry up, hazed and hollow. Hopes will tarnish as they become covered in snow. Here lays the sorrow, that now weighs deeply in your chest. Any theme is gone. It is a scramble to find meaning, a purpose, and worth. This story has no beginning, but it has an end, an end where everything dies. Flames scorch the earth. The land cracks into streaks which impersonate lightning. The seas will evaporate, and all will be dry and withered. Nothing but ash remains. Any struggle to survive, when the world is against you, will all be in vein. You will walk the earth alone, because nothing but ash remains. The swarm of erupted aspirations will consume the very air around, and you will choke on the essence of life fading away, for nothing but ash remains. The days are black. The sun is black. No light shines, but the star of your last desire. This your time. Be no longer alone. Become whole again, and throw yourself into the fire. Succumb to the ashes, and suffer no more. No longer be torn, be the single ash that remains.