Nor was she with me to support the extinguishing rebirth of her soul. She was returning from the depths of darkness to reenter the light. Once trapped in a never-ending whirlwind of impulse, keeping her astray from rays of hope approaching the surface of her journey. Years went by in this terrible dream, a dream so wild and empty; that lasting dream. The view of the wall with the painted beetles, the coming and going of blurred shapes that jiggle with purpose, the sound of the slamming doors, the shrieking cartwheels, and the beeps that danced around the present. Clouds come in to attend the moment, being weeks, months, flashing by. Desiring escape I’m but a mere capsule of her emotions, her presence, I’m but a peasant to the ruler of the dream; it is I who is part of it, but not included; I’m there, but not completed. To return is to face once again the burden of sense, the stroke of purpose in the sea of disaster; to fight that which pulled her down so violently, to risk everything to achieve all.
The Realm of Indifference 