Black tea black

Dare to realize that everyone and everything you know and love will someday cease to exist and you will drive yourself insane. I want to tread that fine line, the slowly crumbling edge of the chasm. I want to face infinity with my feet dancing lightly about the present, while wind swirls the settled dust about me and tugs at my skirts. The dust cares not whether it clings to my skirts or drifts lazily over the edge. To dust I will go eventually, but the powerful, mysterious knowledge that I will jump someday is too terrible to contemplate in the full light of this day. When the day arrives that I understand, and death comes for me, I’ll welcome him in and offer him tea. I’ll offer milk and sugar, but he’ll drink his black tea black, as is his custom.