Black Sabbath, Omaha, Nebraska, USA, 20 January 2016 CE, evening
No one to glance at, share with,
In moments when events
Signify chains of memories
Shared memory means life.
/ W B Kek
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Writers learn to store experience, observation, and rare interaction so all can be used in fiction intended to communicate what could not be shared in the moment.
Inherently, that’s sad.
It is a lonely art, existence.
Solitude is where one creates, yes, but isolation is where one dwells, separate and apart, one view amidst the others, despair mocking the hope, fear anticipating the pain, adrift like any other debris in open space.
So what’s on the other side of death’s black hole, if anything?
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