existentialism in death.

death. the only truly universal experience. every day, we take a step closer to the other side, whether we're ready for it, or not. theories and beliefs aplenty, so many a comfort to our minds astray. but it doesn't matter who you are, where you're from or what you believe, because we all bid the same question; a chorus of fearful whispering to the unknown:

when we die, where do we go?

truthfully, no one knows. we can hope, pray, invest ourselves in a life after life, but the rules of the universe don't obey the cries of man. for at the end of our timeline, all that may lie are empty promises; a void of the darkest oblivion.

simply gone, we will be. our bodies, decomposing six feet under, lying within the moist earth, forever. an infinite lacuna of where we once breathed, we dreamed, we laughed. an empty eternity in a place that doesn't even know we existed. far greater than humankind, the cosmos won't end as we do. Earth will continue to turn, nebulas will continue to shine, even after the last of our own is greeted by the grim reaper. time is endless, depthless, just as so the constellations. a foreverness of nihility, and we will be no more.

as the stars explode and the planets crumble in a stunning flash of violent light, the galaxies will silence; a whole multitude of once life will cease. the universe, attending to a peaceful darkness as it encompasses the heavens with its blanket of death, will hide the skeleton of our existence in an eternity of merely what once was, not was is, or will ever be.

where do we go when we die?

the query bears no simplicity, as the answer to life's greatest mysteries lies as its own ruination.