The truth is nothing. You just lie down, and let the waves wash over you, until it fades, and you miss the waves that slowly drown you, and the truth they always bring.

You return to it, eventually. Or it returns to you. A dreadful thing to behold, that nothing works. To be forcefully ejected from everything to the shores. To witness as an outsider the truth of how everything ticks. The patient, methodical turning of time, and how it goes unaffected in your absence.

Will you suffer so that others will not? The question rings.

You will suffer, and so will everybody else. It washes over you, and all you can do is lay down.

You want to weep, because nothing ever works. But it fades, as everything always will. A motion with the tide.