I've been trying to fit everything in, trying to get to the end before it's too late, but I see now how badly I've deceived myself. My life does not allow such things. The closer I come to what I think is an end of an era, the more there is to say. The endings in my life are only imaginary, a destination I invent to keep myself going. But now I am at a point, where I realize that I will never get there. I might have to stop, but that is only because I have run out of time. I stop, but that does not mean I have come to an end.
He begins to suspect, as he gazes through this hole of insight and fire, that though it is the most important thing he owns, it has not shielded him from anything terribly important. The only consolation is that despite everything, he chose to endure. Without any assurance of immortality or even competence, his only goal is to be happy. He must be careful not to throw everyone who loves him away. Because without them, there plainly and starkly would have been nothing here for him; no, nothing at all.
