Eternity

I wrote this for no apparent reason. I'm curious to see how people interpret it though.

If I try to sit back and enjoy this show, this wonderful, busy scenery adorned with decorations and lights, alive with the reverberation of a thousand noises, electric with the energies of twelve million men, could I?

  Could I stand to pause and let out a contented sigh, a sigh of relief, the relief of finally taking a break, or would I find myself compelled to keep going, to survive, to work, to reproduce as my nature prophesises? I don't quite know if I could even contemplate the fact that it all might stop suddenly; that it all might disembark, slink back into the darkness, into the universe that made it.  If we were all to just fade, if we were all to just halt   in the black and see that none of this has to be done at all! As if none of it were real.  As if nothing of our ancestors lives and the lives of ourselves was quite... necessary. As if we could all just, break out, all be individuals once more, like the broken fragments of the swirling, steamy shroud which would once have haunted the skies, the ever expanding, vast emptiness of blue above us. What if even this were to cease to exist.  The birds and the trees with their freedom, and we, with our blinding cataract of mediocrity. What if this were finally enough to blind us of the road ahead, and cause us to stumble into the awaiting chasm of a torturous apocalypse?  Could we ever call ourselves human again? Could we ever give ourselves, again, that title which we categorise all so called 'individuals' of our race?  And aren't all of the words which your eyes now scroll over, well... aren't they, themselves, just... titles?

  Is everything not just a title? Is everything we know not simply a word? If that is so, then everything is literature, and literature is everything.  This universe which dwarfs us, this busy world silenced by its ever expansive container of space, the multiverse to which we give no location... all of those are words, are they not? Do you deny the fact that universe, world, multiverse, everything... are just, well... words?

  Words.  Words are for everything.  No matter what language in which we ramble.  Isn't it miraculous how words, these words now, even, can manipulate the thoughts of blind humans? You won't go and repeat this to anyone whom you are aquaintenced with, but if you ever did... Despite the billions and billions of conversations which roared so loudly across the Earth simmoultaneously with your own, despite the overwhelming sound two hundred thousand super novas, and the cries of twenty trillion infants, would we hear even a whisper, even a WORD from space? Even if we did care to do so much as to sit back for a moment and observe the rush of life.  Would we hear anything from where the universe stands, if we knew exactly where that place was, despite us lying within its silent depths.

  For now I ramble in my own philosophical words, and I voice everything.  I voice the universe and all that lies within it and all that surrounds it.  I voice the unknown, and you may do so as well... All you need is a single word.  For that word may just break the silence of the busy, ever-moving world with her many words, all escaping in the form of voices, of pixels and of marks of lead and of ink, rising up... into eternity's forbidden grasp.  But isn't it so that eternity... is just a word, aswell?

Author's Note

I really want to know how you interpreted this!