Oblivion.

Forgetfulness is like a river flowing without beginning or end, meandering through the valleys of our memory, the landscape constantly changing. But look, there, further away, where the mountains rise and the sky is deep blue, other thoughts appear, as if the mind’s weather pattern suddenly changes. The thought of yesterday, perhaps that one puzzle you almost solved, fades into the distance as you focus your attention on those flickering lights on the horizon. They are new ideas, discoveries that have nothing to do with what lies behind you, but promise something new. For example, the technology of the future—our world is increasingly about algorithms, about artificial intelligence taking over our daily lives, and yet, amid all this innovation, the question seems to arise: what is the point of all this progress anyway? Think of those old houseplants that stood in the window, unattended by you, but still finding their own way into the light, even without your constant care. They know nothing of technology, nothing of time, and yet they continue to grow, as if they have no sense of the things we consider essential. But imagine if we ever get to a point where everything we’ve achieved becomes a shadow of something greater—where our striving for the unknown eventually becomes as vague as that memory of your first day of school, when everything seemed new and confusing but is now no more than a vague impression. Because either way, everything we think we hold on to is ultimately only temporary, and it will slowly fade away, like a name you once knew but can no longer recall, while the world around you goes on as usual, and the plants in the window bend quietly toward the light.