Matter, Me, and You

It does not matter anymore.

Starting with the heads, planted pillars of the ruins, like the elders who came before me, and I am here for them. Because if I am not here to feel the reassembling of already disintegrated memories, mixed amalgamations with whatever is new, then what remains of remembering?

source
The rarity of remembrance carries a single drawback: embarking upon your own dismissal. Life being short does not make much sense. Life is me, and with me it ends. So what is “I am,” and therefore what I cannot see or feel does not amount to much.

Footing. Steps paced to knock against the stages or nerves that come to seep through the dimensions, or the matter. It really does matter. Matter having us, matter me, and matter you. With every inch, I am to remember the inches, the steps. Some seep through, preparing for when there is nothing left to seep, so it takes the matter, the forces called dark in the epic and mysterious circumstances they hold.

But they take me, and the things I have forgotten, to remember me, to make me whole, into the whole specimen that exists and does not.

Entry for the contest: CONTEST: "The Keyword of the Week" / WETTBEWERB: "Das Schlüsselwort der Woche"