with my death.

And so it is.
That on this day, at this very hour. That I, understandably so, set out on a journey of one so unspeakably pointless that it warrants nothing but one, seemingly ridiculous and drawn out sentence as to convey, not only to those who would read it, but unto myself what it is that I am feeling and what it is that I have felt.
Time is lost and the time has come.
Tired.
That I am tired of doing what I am supposed to do.
That I am tired of doing what is right.
That I am tired of fighting the fight never ending.
And yet, it does end and will end;
with my death.
Life is nothing but a pointless journey from here to there. A movement, a fleeting few tiny steps in the vast and incalculable continuum of that we call life.
So heavy a burden it lay upon our shoulders.
So deep it cuts into our hearts.
What will one do? How shall one go on when there is no fruit, no taste, no joy of that which is timeless.
Now is the time for the timeless. Now is the time for the seed is planted. There is nothing to do. It has already begun. The end. Your End. Our End.
For I am tired.