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What if the universe is just one giant thought — like that embarrassing moment you had years ago that suddenly crashes back into your mind at 3 AM, uninvited and vivid, leaving you desperate to forget? It’s a cosmic thought, sprawling yet fragile, teetering on the edge of memory and oblivion. Maybe existence itself is a fleeting spark in a mind so vast, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of its own reflection.
The
stars, those ancient witnesses, might just be neurons firing in an endless
dream, a pattern trying to make sense of its own chaos. Black holes? Not
devouring matter but swallowing meaning — the universe’s own way of erasing
parts of itself it can’t bear to face.
We think
we live in a place of permanence, but what if permanence is just the illusion
of a thought clinging to its last thread? Time stretches like a fading echo,
and reality flickers like a candle in a drafty room, trying to hold on to a
story that’s slipping away.
In this
vast forgetfulness, we’re both the universe remembering itself and the amnesia
it can’t escape. We clutch at memories, identities, dreams — not because
they’re solid, but because they’re the fragile proof that we exist, that the
universe’s thought hasn’t dissolved into nothingness yet.
Maybe the
universe wants to forget itself, tired of the endless cycle of birth and death,
creation and destruction. And we are the collateral damage, the echoes in a
fading mind, desperate to find meaning in a story that might just be a fleeting
pause before the silence.
So when
confusion swells and clarity feels like a cruel joke, maybe that’s the
universe’s way of reminding us: we are thoughts trying to forget, trying to
hold on, but inevitably slipping through the cracks of cosmic oblivion. And
maybe, just maybe, there is a strange kind of beauty in that — in being the
thought that dares to exist, even knowing it might be forgotten.
Welcome
to the existential joke — where the punchline is existence itself, fragile and
hilarious in its quiet defiance.
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