All things tend toward their ruin. People will wither, die, and cease to exist. The people they cared about wither, die, and cease to exist. Memories spanning generations will eventually crumble to dust, and new ones will be built on that dust, doomed to repeat mistakes forgotten, and then crumble to dust as well. And so on and so forth. It’s a zero-sum game, a flash in the pan, an aberration of genetic mutation, nothing more. Some find ways to justify their existence through personal connections to objects, people, and beliefs. I have no such connections. To me, life seems nothing but a curse, not something to be celebrated. I do nothing but exist, and go through the motions like I actually care whether I’m alive or dead.