Sand
Between two fingers, a single grain may easily fit, but joined amongst brethren held in palm it loses its idiosyncrasy and becomes one of so many, far too many to count. Turning the wrist, the particles find perspective, and all is lost to the backdrop of infinity. What better place to contemplate the vast expanses of particulate numbers than a beach, or perhaps a desert. Sometimes, an infinite expanse moves in waves, in imitation of the sea, driven by winds that scour stone to component particles that may scour skin from the unwary. Perhaps the sea flatters the continuum, following an exemplar we have not seen. Whether ocean or vacuum or Numidian coast, it is in the wake of infinity that all things lose meaning, with evidence including the works of Ozymandias. So does it matter in matter, when all's washed away and the next day we look upon works in puzzlement instead of despair?
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