Must idealism be shattered into pieces like a mirror falling to the ground?
Must conscious minds be constantly haunted by memories?
Must insomnia be pondered in sleepless nights?
Must amnesia be remembered?
These are great mysteries.
The hopeless romanticism has died and reborn unto the void. There is no justification for its existence the same way there is none for its inexistence. Does the past justify the present? Or does the present justify the past? The bijective sentiment sways as the trigonometric structure underlying the past, present and future surfaces. Perhaps it is only within the future that all justifications for the past ought to be found. The present is formless like its predecessors.
I was expecting a letter from Y Combinator and it arrived. Or that could be a false memory. But the letter did arrive. And there will be an interview. An interview that will determine the past and not the future for the Turing-completeness of reality has set itself into motion long before dawn. The future remains unchangeable so as the changeability of the past like a global variable lost in recursions.
The ultimate truth lies in the present. It is hidden and without name.