I’m thinking. The realization that I was thinking felt akin to quantum entanglement, and the process took several millenia to occur.

If I’m thinking, I’m not dead. I groaned – or at least attempted to groan – and became aware that a section of myself – of the sky – condensed into a star.

How did I feel the birth of a star? How can I feel anything? How can I think?

As my thoughts pondered into existence over a billion years, only to dissipate as the answers floated away, I quickly realized what had happened.

The universe hadn’t destroyed me in its birth. I’m still alive, I’m in pieces, and I’m in everything.

I felt the impotent rage rising – Galaxies formed in emerging speckles as my anger burst the localized space into stars. Some of them, too full of my vitriol, collapsed into singularities like those I witnessed die in another life.

As I felt myself settling down, the remaining debris condensed into little balls of rock.

I realized what it meant, and I knew I could do it right this time.