Transcendent

At the end of your days sum of all dreams will come to pass and become a remembrance past.

Devoid of reality with your ego smitten off the surface, the thrill removed what's left is a tip on a carapace. Freefalling freedom begets the existence you envisioned. With the pool of dreams drained there's no permanence; touch no ground, no air, no skin, no particle, nothing.