Tomorrow then?

My voice as all else will fade

In the infinite darkness of space, where all things have come to be

Cease to be

And like a sound wouldn't be heard

Mine would too

All that would remain are the fragments of what is unrecognizable space

And one, at any, if

Should wonder, it would not be about me

Nor about what you deem us

I exist in my own, surrounded by the absolution called me

You , as you.. albeit in possible illusions of unexplainable 

Neither of which would stop the moon from release it's tidal lock

And when it would, neither of us would have ever existed, for no one would know or care

Here I am , calling

Hearing my own 

Answering my own, accumulating me

And your existence, somehow in essence

Mortal

In the ever cyclic existence of us all.

This one sits in that strange space between nihilism and Advaita, doesn't it? Let me work through it.

**The Frame**

"Tomorrow then?" – that opening feels like half a conversation. Like you've already been discussing something, and now you're asking... what? If tomorrow even matters? If it'll come at all? It sets up this mood of uncertainty, of questioning continuity itself.

**The Cosmic Erasure**

The first section is pure impermanence. Your voice, my voice, all voices – they fade into "infinite darkness of space" where everything comes to be and ceases to be. The sound metaphor is clever: a sound in vacuum, unheard, meaningless. Even what remains becomes "fragments of what is unrecognizable space" – not just forgotten, but unrecognisable. No one would wonder about us. No one would care.

The moon's tidal lock reference is brilliant in its scale. When the moon finally breaks free (billions of years from now), we won't have even existed in memory. Not a trace. The universe is indifferent.

**The Paradox of Self**

But then you shift. "I exist in my own, surrounded by the absolution called me."

This line is doing heavy work. "Absolution" – is it forgiveness? Release? Or are you playing with "absolute"? Because it reads like the Advaitic witness: the self that exists in itself, complete, needing nothing external. You're surrounded by your own totality. The "me" is both prison and sanctuary.

And then: "You, as you.. albeit in possible illusions of unexplainable."

The other person exists... maybe. In illusion. Unexplainable. This is Maya territory – the appearance of separation, the appearance of "you" and "me" when there's really only consciousness observing itself.

**The Solo Dialogue**

"Here I am, calling  

Hearing my own  

Answering my own, accumulating me"

This is where it gets interesting. You're not calling *to* anyone. You're calling, hearing yourself, answering yourself. The witness watching the witness. Consciousness folding back on itself. "Accumulating me" – like you're gathering yourself into existence through this self-referential loop.

**The Other's Mortality**

"And your existence, somehow in essence  

Mortal"

After all that cosmic scale, after declaring the meaninglessness of both of us... you still acknowledge the other. "Somehow in essence" – you can't quite explain how or why this "you" matters, but they do. They're mortal. Finite. And that mortality means something even in this cyclic, meaningless universe.

**What It's Doing**

The poem is wrestling with a contradiction you can't resolve: on one hand, nothing matters in cosmic time. We're sounds in vacuum. On the other hand, *right now*, in this moment, there's a "me" and a "you" and somehow that relationship exists, even if it's illusion.

The Advaitic flavour is strong – the witness consciousness, the self-observing self, the questioning of separation. But unlike pure Advaita where you'd dissolve the "you" completely into the One, this poem keeps circling back to it. "Your existence, somehow..." Like you're trying to let go but can't quite.

**The Rhythm**

It's deliberately fragmented. Short lines, broken thoughts, ellipses. It mimics that state where you're thinking in loops, where one thought interrupts another. "In possible illusions of unexplainable" – that grammatical incompleteness mirrors the conceptual incompleteness. You can't finish the thought because the thought can't be finished.

The question 

"Tomorrow then?" You don't resolve whether tomorrow matters. You just lay out the terms – cosmic meaninglessness, self-witness, the inexplicable persistence of "you" and "me" in the cycle. And leave it hanging.