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What do you do when there’s nowhere left to go?
When each day echoes the one before,
and time has no boundaries,
only a circle tightening
around your soul?

Immortality teaches you to forget.
To let names, faces, voices fall away
like dry leaves in an eternal autumn.
And yet, their roots remain in your flesh,
like a memory too painful to tear out.

There is nothing glorious in not dying.
Only a silent thirst that never leaves,
a burden you carry across worlds,
with steps growing heavier,
as if each moment were the last
and the first, all at once.

Immortality is no gift.
It’s a wound that never heals,
a heavy silence that fills your chest
and leaves you alone, breathless,
beneath a starless sky.

Immortality doesn’t save you.
It only lets you watch,
across an endless abyss,
as everything you love turns to dust.

And what remains, if not yourself,
a relic carried by winds,
a grain of sand in a desert
that never ends?
You wonder if you’re human, shadow,
or just a stubborn idea
the universe forgot to erase.

You cling to stones, to trees, to the sky,
searching to etch your existence somewhere,
on something that will never fade.
But everything crumbles,
dissolves in your hands,
like a promise made in haste.

You’ll remain, you know that.
You’ll remain when the lights go out,
when rivers forget their course,
when words vanish from books,
and time itself falls asleep.
But who cares about staying,
when everything around you leaves?

And so, what do you do?
You build a world out of shadows,
a labyrinth of old memories,
you lie to yourself that immortality is a gift,
not your sweetest curse.
You tell yourself eternity isn’t the end,
but the beginning of a different kind of solitude.

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