Hairbrush and Melted Candle

The ice chip slides down the back of my throat - I look at the hairbrush on my desk. What is it doing on my desk?
And will all those hairs ever be used as DNA evidence?
Look at that charred, melted candle. It’ll never be beautiful again.

Part of me wonders is this it?

But another part of me resents the question. What do you mean, is this it?
It’s not like I believe the particles that make up the knick knacks on my desk
That collapsed into becoming themselves after traveling across the universe for eons and eons
Came together for just a moment in time, to entertain me.

. . . No. I definitely don’t believe that.

. . . right?