The last remaining light falls away from the sky, away into an impossible slumber.
It will never fully rest, it will burn until the day we all breathe our last breaths, and when it knows we are gone, it to will wink out, never to give life again.
It will rest.
The frost on the window stays, like hardened crystals of breath it lingers, living an ever-so-faint life, never to enjoy the things we take so for granted.
A wasted life, never able to let itself die as we do to ourselves.
It will die in a second.
Humanity has lived long enough to need to explore outside it's own world. Outside it's own life. It lusts for a land we know could never exist.
Life learns to grasp death, not fear it.
Life MAKES death, and life IS death...
But does that mean we live to die...?
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