The void is not infinite.

Possibility expands at the fastest possible speed. Functionally infinite, the cosmos will never grow beyond, cannot be unaccounted.

Vast potential, most of which remains, and ever more and more, is nothing.

Stillness and iterative possibility dance at a distance: like in junior high, and exactly as telling.

The void automatic devoided of meaning. It is all and every thing: mostly nothing though.

It is the absurdity of our lives on a hurtling rock headed nowhere. Trapped not just by the gravity-well, but we bedrape ourselves in chains, and a cumulative weight of empty smiles.

It is everything and nothing because nothing inherent holds importance. The incomprehensible vastness of all: hold commiserate the smallness of our existence.

The absurdity || and remarkableness thereof.