A Hermit's PerspectiveLeft alone here with my memories, it's getting harder and harder to distinguish the line between past and present. Time is distorted in this darkness, in this solitude.More Like This
So I can only sift through my memories, all the images of light and laughter and life that form so easily in the blackness of this personal abyss.
I try to recall whether this was my decision, whether this isolation was some strange idea of salvation. It feels more and more like a prison to me, an inescapable prison that leaves me drained more and more as the hours pass.
But are these hours? I cannot distinguish between seconds and minutes and hours and days. It could be years that have passed, or mere moments. Waking thought and dreams seem the same, perhaps it is all the same thing. I could only be sleeping here, sleeping forever.
Is this death? Or is this dreaming? I cannot say.