" My hands would touch the weathered rock behind me: rugged but smooth on the edges it would feel and I would be wondering how long it would be until the elements would succeed in grinding it down, in wearing it off so the sea would finally get to take it away. Millions of years, I’d be thinking, with my fingers in the brittle cracks that the continuously freezing and melting water had left on its surface and thinking this, I would have to remind myself that I would still be there to see it. I would still be there, once everything around me would be gone. There, in a dead and invariable wasteland and these would be the moments when it would hit me like rockfall: the futility of eternity "

― Sima B. Moussavian , Tomorrow death died out: What if the future were past?