“Between my brother and I, we know everything there is to know in the world. You could ask us any question, and one would have the answer.”

This was a set-up for a joke—the punchline being that any question Paul didn’t know the answer to, he could respond with, “Well my brother knows that one,” and have a bit of a laugh. I didn’t wait long enough for the joke and challenged him with, Well, what is the meaning of life?

“I actually do know the answer to that. It’s one thing,” he replied in his British accent, thick enough that I was surprised it’d been 25 years since he’d lived in England. “And what would that be?” I asked, now actually interested in what he had to say. “Well, it’s different for everyone.”

If I’ve encountered anything constant along my minutes and miles it seems to be there remains a vast emptiness in all people, impossible to fill. That there would be a single thing an individual can find a semblance of meaning, purpose or sanity in makes sense. That most people would never find peace makes for just as much.

The fire pit has charred remains from Sunday night. The birds swoop around and the clouds and winds gather behind them, threatening a rain. The world will continue to spin and everything living will die. There will be liars among us all. It is terrifying how the fickle battles among the powerful will worsen what little time the rest of us have left.

Posted to Personal at 16:25 on 8 May 2018

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