“So I guess this is it.”
“It - what is it?”
“The falling, the near-landing. The inevitable crash at the bottom of everything.”
“What is everything anyway?”
“Everything! You can’t just not know everything.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t. Which is why you should tell me. Right now.”
“Everything… it’s all that’s remained, all that’s left. Everything is all that you can hold invisibly. Everything is all that you cramp inside your tiny, beating center.”
“Then you’re not part of it — everything. You’re never going to be it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“But I promise you. Everything is still going to be alright.”
“But you can’t promise something that’s never going to happen.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we’ve already reached solid ground. Which means everything’s supposed to be done. And if everything’s done, really, tell me, what’s still there to fix?”
And if everything’s done, really, tell me, what’s still there to fix?
