I live long, longer than most, possibly the longest. My shine doesn’t fade. Even with age I become more and more pure.
I know myself and others know me. Many know me, heck, all know me but not all have seen me, smelled me, tasted me or even wore me out. But who has, knows I don’t wear out, my shine doesn’t fade, and they adore me.
I am born in explosions and die with a whimper.
I remember everything and everyone, my memory doesn’t fade with age. I am an almanac of ages throughout, and I’ve travelled more than any man combined.
To me space isn’t big. It just is…I run through it. Time is meaningless. And value is valueless.
My value is my own. Numbers try to calculate me and words are used to describe me. Beautiful, that’s what they call me, 197 is how they stack me. Light can see me, I cast a shadow, I exist.
However, from my birth I’ve been propelled, lost, found, locked up, loved, hated, thrown, sold, bought, bargained, stolen, returned, fought over, been the cause of death to many and people tend to have an eerie attraction tward me. Why? I do not know.
Perhaps they remember how small and petty they are compared to a tiny fraction of me. They use me as a symbol for their attraction, as a gift of their demise, for their afterlife. I don’t know what those are.
However I’m not aware, nor would I wish to be, I’m not alive, nor do I care for it. I was born in the core of dying lights, and will exist eons after their light has faded
…What am I?
The Man Cave 