I am further from my self than I have ever been. Not a shade of shadow. There are claws in the dark, drawing lines of unseen blood on the surface, while inside, something is missing; the most frightening of this: you don't know what it is; you have forgotten. And because you have forgotten, you can't find your way back. Perhaps, it is a good thing: you will not miss what you have lost.
At the end of the day, you just want to get home fast. Away from the glaring monitor, the open-end questions, the dissolution of things you think you know so well.
If this is life, what is death? Death is not so bad after all these shit. It is even, perhaps, rest. So richly deserved of it, you will think and open both arms wide, ready to embrace.
The wisdom earned, as you live, is not replaceable. You will become a sage if you live long enough. At least I like to think that.
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