Ein Schleier legt sich über die Sterne,
leise beklagen sie den Verlust einer der ihren.
Und doch bricht der Morgen an
zart, beinahe zögernd
als wüsste auch das Licht um den Schmerz.
~ me, 2026
Life without you is strange, some of you are still out there, some of you aren’t anymore. I think about you sometimes, not everyday and not all of you but often, I’ve written a few poems, played a ballad or two, I’ve cried many times, I’m alone a lot now, I’m not sure there’s many who understand me or have ever really understood me, I’ve written this text and others, one day I will have my last thought about you, I will talk about you for the last time, I will remember your face and your words, what you taught me and what we shared for the last time. If the heat death of the Universe is inevitable, then so is ours, but until then I want to live with everyone else. I hope you’ll forgive me, I’ll live without you for now, I hope I - no, We can make it there, to the point where a child can have their 4 or more grandparents forever (within the bounds of the lifespan of the universe). As far as frontiers go death is a pretty good one to be frontiering on. Life was always a bit strange to me, and If I’m right then it’s about the get the strangest it’s been for a long time, but one of the strangest parts is that it’s without you. Some of you I have yet to meet and some I will never - what a horrible thought, almost unbearable. I wrote this text last year, I didn’t finish it, I didn’t wanna publish it, I just wanted to write.
Grief:
I’m writing this before it has even happened. I cry often now, sometimes in the car, sometimes alone at home, sometimes in the arms of loved ones. I cried when I first read Yehuda Yudkowsky, 1985–2004; I think about it often now, and I cry even more. I cry when I hear Sufjan Stevens. I did before, but now it happens every time. I cry when I think about the 597,000 deaths from malaria in 2023. I imagine holding their hands, the way I hold hers.
I do not want to be here. I would like distance, but it has not arrived. The person I loved, and who loved me, was gone. Now they are returning, slowly. Or perhaps only what remains of them is more visible now, and that too is fleeting. The shadow fills the room. It follows me out the door, rides home with me, sits beside me as I write, and will lie down with me when I stop.
Again I am torn. Choose myself, or choose them, because they are not leaving quickly but slowly.
I do not believe children owe their parents infinite debt. I think I should grieve a stranger’s death as much as hers. I should save both the drowning child in front of me and the drowning child far away. Yet I do not. I have not cried for your loved one. I cried in self-pity and shame.
I did things I did not want to do for her, because they were expected, because I feared permanent damage to my family if I did not, and what would follow from that. But I also did things for her simply because they were for her. So have I already acted well?
I am ashamed that I cried selfishly, about why this happened to me, about what my life has become, and what it may be, when there were better reasons to cry. Oh, you fool of fools, how could you say these words, think these thoughts, and shed these tears?
- “The person you want to be, what would they do in this situation?”
- “Can you, honestly and with your limited life experience, tell yourself that you will not regret this decision later?”
People are allowed to be selfish sometimes. It would be unreasonable to expect me to sell everything and optimize my life purely for donations to effective causes. I have never met anyone who argues otherwise. So why is this decision still so hard, the choice to care for my own desires now instead of first caring for a dying person?
It feels like I made my choice long ago and am now rationalizing my way back to it. I’ve used to describe myself as morally lucky, because I claimed that most of the time the thing that I want to do anyways happens to be the morally virtuous thing, I think I will not do that anymore
To F.: You were right about so many things, you were right about my motivations, you were right in what I should think about, You were right in seeking conversation with me. Todays conversation in the Car was what made me write this. We’ve had our differences many times, I’ve been afraid of you, I’ve been annoyed by you, I’ve felt betrayed mocked and shunned by you. But in this moment I know you love me and want the best for me, for us, for her. I’ve lied to you, I’ve hated you, I’ve
I still agree with some things and probably don’t agree with other things in that text anymore and I honestly can’t bear reading it again to find out but I still cry when I hear Sufjan sing about hospital visits and the suffering of him and his loved one, I never showed this text to F, idk if he will ever read it, I’m not sure if i want him to read it. Life without you is strange you who has left me, and you who I’ve left. Some Theists tell me you’re in a better place now, they tell me someone intentionally did this to you, it was part of a plan. Part of some divine orchestration. I’m not one to argue from emotions, but I find it unfitting to tell these things to people who don’t share your metaphysical and religious view points. Well that’s a lot of words to say that I miss you, all of you. I’ll keep trying, I’ll try to delay the last thought that will ever be thought about you as much as possible, your second death, your memetic death, but I’m afraid there’s only so much I can do, especially since I’ve never met some of you. Until then,
yours truly, trying to avoid death
“One day, while doing nothing particularly out of the ordinary, because of natural laws he was completely powerless to understand or intuit, he was instantly killed in a horrifying way by forces entirely beyond his experience, for no reason, to no observable surprise or upset. In this we are more like him than different.”
~ Elroy Craich, probably, describing a dead rat
