DEAR EPOCHÉ, ALETHEIA WRITES. Like a timescale I am locating you. Begin recording. At the center of my galaxy swirls a supermassive black hole, formed from a dying star. Gravity always wins, the stars flare. An endpoint of spacetime, the black hole in the center of my galaxy was once a burning sun. End recording. This is an allegory of space and time and how each word became one. My heart, Aletheia
