Yet form in awareness can seem so pervasive, except for some dim notion there is something more. Which can be yet another form however dimly known.
What kind of awareness is it that decides? Is awareness of pain an obfuscating addiction?
And what is beauty? Punctuation in a sentence about longing? Laughter in the theater of anguish?
Or is beauty also conserved and the island of our despair arises when we forget beauty?