⠄⠄⠄⠄⡀⡀⠄⠄⡀⠄⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠠⠂⠁⢂⠨⠡⡑⢀⠈⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠑⠁⠂⠪⢈⢆⢧⡺⡜⡜⡌⡆⢆⠆⡆⣣⡣⡀
⡡⠨⠐⡐⡰⡑⡧⣫⡺⡱⡱⢘⠔⡑⢌⠎⣞⣵⠄
⠄⢂⠅⢬⡸⡮⣫⢧⠫⢊⠊⡂⠣⠊⢜⢪⢪⢺⣷
⠌⠄⢪⣺⢽⡹⣜⢔⠜⠔⠐⠄⢀⢈⠈⢔⢸⠱⠿⡀
⡮⢂⡳⡽⡵⡝⡎⡆⡊⠊⠄⢀⠄⠰⡽⡌⡇⠄⠄⣆
⢽⢈⢸⢹⡪⡯⡺⣪⠪⠌⡂⠄⢂⢽⣺⢪⢢⠂⢦⠌
⣽⢐⠘⢜⢎⠮⡫⢸⢘⠌⠄⠂⡢⡳⠭⢧⠣⡮⣪⡆
⠣⢂⡳⡑⠜⢈⠄⡳⠁⠄⡀⠡⢀⠐⢈⢘⡎⠅⡺⡇
⠈⡆⡅⠅⡃⠠⠄⢌⠂⠄⡈⠮⡢⢕⣐⣠⢳⠡⡻
⢊⢸⢱⠁⡂⢀⠄⠠⠁⠄⠈⠡⠒⠅⢕⣻⣦⢀⠅
⡤⡈⠂⢁⠐⠄⠄⠰⠄⠄⠈⠄⢈⠠⠠⢨⢆⢢⠁
⣞⣗⢧⡢⡀⡁⠄⢈⠂⠅⢀⠠⠄⠄⠄⡁⠂⣝
⣗⢗⢇⢯⢺⢨⢢⠄⠂⠅⠅⢀⠄⠂⠄⠔⢱⢹
⣞⡝⣎⢧⢳⡹⡼⡸⡐⠠⠐⢀⠈⠄⠁⢄⠣⠁

Life is but a meaningless cycle of anguish and despair, even those we hold dearest will become formless faces of vague familiarity. Our purpose and place is indistinguishable and seeking fulfilment is futile. The only constant is pain.