As the world turns

Is this what it feels like as the world stops turning, grinding ever slower to an eternal rest? What then, a cold, dead rock floating slowly through a dying void. The universe will soon forget us, may not even notice as we pass in a blink of its eye. The thought of such unwavering indifference used to bring over me the creeping wave of the fear, a dangerous panic threatening to drag me down. Not now, now I see that empty void as a canvas upon which the energies and particles dance. It may one day end, the dancers all to retreat from the invasive eye, but that will be long from now. Until that day, when the last glimmer of that light, that matter, that life, that love is gone, until that day, some small part of me, of you, of everything ever known will be the stuff of legends. I think all this, and the world turns as it always does, oblivious to its eventual demise. Is it ignorant bliss, or informed denial? The inevitable may be just that, so why dwell? One day all that remains will be dust, and another day many beyond that nothing. There may be some cosmic reset, some great crunch as all matter returns to sender. But what existence is that, some great yoyo, in some infinite loop. Would each spin be the same? Is this the reason for such endless, mindless repetition within the confines of our reality, to prepare for the crushing fact that nothing will ever change. All will die and face the great unknown alone, with no guiding hand, stripped of that which we have worked all our lives to create. The comfort of our egos shattered as we are laid bare before the void, reflected in ourselves we see the very nature of being, that all is a pretence to protect us from the truth we are too afraid to know.