I figure no one's going to be reading this, but I still have that odd fervor, somewhere deep down, buried, not yet gone - and for some reason, I feel like I'm drawing close to remembering why I'm here, as odd as that might be. I mean, me? How could I have forgotten?
Not that it matters. But, opening myself up, allowing myself to be vulnerable, one part of a whole, an organ of this strange phenomenon we've come to call civilization... why should I quit, knowing so many others have fought and died for less? And this fight, this one I deem to be righteous - isn't it important to hold onto a part of you that you've defined as yourself? If just a memory, it still matters, because like the stories of old, we are our own worlds which cast long, permanent shadows. For better, not for worse.
I'll be signing off with my name from now on, because I feel that this project doesn't deserve to have just me, but maybe, someday, someone else, too. And don't get me wrong, I know that I'm far from alone, far from being the only one moving things forwards, but months without communication grows taxing. It is, as one might say, what it is, and there's nothing to be done but work with the hand you're dealt.
So we move on.
- Nilop
