Dear Eleanor, Shall I Decay?
Decay is a natural thing, you liked to say. And yet it feels far from it. One moment, this body feels like home and the next, it's as alien as the inside of a black hole. Perhaps if we had the chance to peer over the black hole's edge, we would find the glory and wonder of a mysterious new dimension, a cascading turbulence of color and resolve. I wonder if peeling back the layers of our own dying bodies would reveal a similar sight.
