Infinity is finite to the outside world.

Yesterday and tomorrow are incomprehensible. I gaze into my reflection; the present is like a scar stuck to the bottom of my jaw. It has been healed, but still it remains: distinct. I hear the perpetual bell’s of the future ringing, a song of uncertainty and change.

Nothing is ever quiet.
I lay my body across the stars and think the world’s voice has been shut off. Yet, there I am, alive. I inhibit a microcosm of joys, sorrows, feelings, and thoughts: I am a world within a world. Suddenly, my heartbeat is turned up. The pace of my breathing initiates my whole body to rumble. I see infinity now. Though I am constantly battling the passage of time, I see consistency. It is not in the stars or the area of some shape. It is in the slight drumbeat of my heart, and the faint music of my chest rising and falling like the moths above my head who quickly fly into the bulbs, drop, and continue to get closer to the light. The past, present, and future could be combined into a big messy pile of disorganized time stacked to the tip of the moon, and few things are permanent, not like God, but as we humans can understand. These things I know are ineffably true until the earth stops spinning within my microcosm. Then it does not matter. Then there are no more realms to explore.