Very little can be said that hasn’t already been said. Very little can be written that hasn’t already been written. Very little can be done that hasn’t already been done. So why do we say it, why do we write it, why do we do it?
Why do we love? Love’s already been done. Why do we live? Life has already been done. Why do we do anything? It all has already been done.
There is a time to sow and a time to reap. There is a time laugh and a time to cry. There is a time to be born and a time to die. Everything under the sun has already occurred. The Universe has already been wrapped up like a scroll and put away in some dusty cosmic library, already nearly forgotten.
We are a mere echo. The Second Law of Thermodynamics says that our echo is already fading into chaos, into nothingness. This whole world, which seems so real, is nothing but the dream of a dreamer. Fading from memory.
So why do we do it? Why write? Why love? Why live? When all is nothingness…. When we will not be remembered, when our words will fade, when our love will be scattered in time, forgotten….
I may write. I may love. I may live. These things I do for the joy in the doing. My life, my love, my words. They may be forgotten. But for me, they mean something.