Originally, there was only dead space. That is assuming that time is linear, confined to a start and an end, instead of some resounding infinite circle. After the big bang or the genesis, after the grit and dust rolled into a planet liek a pearl inside an airless mullusk, i was born. LIfe budded and sqirmed, spanning continents. Humans emerged from the savannah, island hopping till we saturated the planet.

Branching out from Africa, crossing the Bering Strait into the Americas. Mens' faces grew and broadened, darkening and creasing deep with wrinkles. Their native tounges mutated so thoroughly that when their European brothers washed up on shore, they were almost nothing like.

Culteres faces off, were dissovlved and absorbed. Once the Europeans had wedged themselves in deep enough, they crossed the oceans once more and enslaved those who had stayed behind. Only a few centuries ago, people cauterized the soil into endless blacktop, a tumor nestled into the mountains. Deer stands decayed and fell from trees, replaces by buildings.

My ancestors, nothing more than old photos and genes, crossed the Atlantic. A few generates passed, and i was broguht into the wold screaming. Bathed in florecent light, for the sun had already set. In only a few short years, my name will be forgotten. I can only hope to be reincarnated in the old photographs and memories, just as my great grandparents were to me.

The places i was born will always remain. The city may crumble, the mountains may settle back into the earth. I could never return, though. The hospital still stands against the horizon, but my birthplace is gone. The world has circled teh sun, and it cannot return to the same spot. Even if I were to return on my brithday, the universe is in constant rotation. If i lived the million years it would take to complete that circle, the galaxy has since drifted deeper through space.

Even more inevitable than the shifting of the tides, the place i was born will remain as empty as it began.