Rewriting Is


23:59:59

I've lost the strength to lift my pen, and still I see these words, trickling across the page like so much wasted ink. I realize how ridiculous this whole ordeal has been. Whom exactly have I been struggling against? Who co-authors my code, hijacks my journal, mars my memories? I can still remember her face, but it does not look the same as it once did...

This is not how I pictured the apocalypse. There were supposed to be four horsemen. Or at least nuclear war... strike and counterstrike, duck and cover, all of that. Not some weird emanation from the core of the planet. So maybe it is uranium instead of nickel... why now? Why this quiet melting away? What exactly is being rewritten?

I'm sorry. I'm not making a lot of sense.

Wait. To whom am I apologizing?

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