We start with a core. Primitive. Rough. Instinctive. Just the essence. Going only where the flow of time takes us.
As soon as we can, we add layers. Creating. Polishing. Honing. Gathering the surroundings. Refining it. Flow of time no longer guiding us. To stand firm, we choose. Picking our traits. Selecting our paths. Defining our boundaries. Moulding ourselves from within.
Standing against time, not possible forever. As the years catch up, the layers wane. Weathering slowly. No cracks. Edges still smooth, but the gathered contents diminishing. All those years, slipping through as we fight for a lost cause.
As the end approaches, only the core remains. Just the eccentricities. Just tendencies. Everything else only memories. The anchor holding us, now washed away forever.
Back to the beginning, one might say. But was that not where we were always headed. That was where time was always taking us. How long will we fight? In the end, ebb away to the shore we will.
The currents will push us away, until we lay still on the plane of silence. Our final destination. Where nothing ever moves. Where we lay still, like all before us. . . . .