So I go through the motions and move through the thoughts but there is something missing, something more because inside I feel so blank and empty and devoid, in a vast devoid-ness, of something that I can only remember. I know my thoughts had a greater affinity with words, my mind was much more busy and alive, and I wasn’t frozen like I am now. There is ice where there should be words and there is fire on their edges, forming a bulwark against being something more.
Could I cry? Could you cry?

I remember being alive, ten times more alive than my normal self, I remember being free and full of wonder as my brain whirled through the brittle whittled galaxies, I remember caring much more about other than my self. 

Now I tire. 

How alive my life used to be when my mind was alive! And now I feel soggy and lumpy and worn out and not truly alive. What happens next? 

I want to go to Nowhere* again.

*From Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones.

About theshadowsofthenight

An amateur writer and amateur artist :)
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