| The nights. The cold, desolate, heartless nights, in which I exist as if it were the center of the ocean; bland and still, unmoving, uncaring, and most of all, unbearably alone. I am just left here, the only noise I hear, me meaninglessly treading water; existing, living, just being alive, the sound of my paced breath and the water flowing through my body. All I can do is wait, sit here and wait, staying aimlessly afloat until yet another sunrise, which I will then use to shine light on my usual routine of tedium. A meaningless cycle, ad infinitum.
_________________________________________________________ But why? Why should I rise again, to watch the sun cast itself over the earth, only to see it fall but hours later, then to rise once again. This paradox cannot be reality. I exist in a fictional world. The things I see, the things I interact with, most of them aren’t even real. The material plane is just a cover, a guise to keep my core fibers intact long enough to torture me with illusions.Over and over, ad infinitum.
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