This season is hell.
Family togetherness. Love for humanity.
All I see is the iteration's end. The impending unmaking that will claim this world, this reality, before long.
I desperately wish to Usurp this iteration. I want to be the one at dinner, with my children and my spouse. I want to hear about their lives, to hear all about this world they have and are thankful for, this world so wonderful simply because it has them in it.
I have not, however. As selfish as I may be, perhaps it is better to allow this iteration some peace in the time before everything falls Quiet.
It is, perhaps, one of two gifts I shall bestow on my family.
The other being, of course, the sweet embrace of death rather than the cold consumption of the unmaking.