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It feels cold. And empty. Yet full, and overwhelming.

It’s everything, and nothing. Familiar, yet very strange.

It’s cold, but not that dark.

It’s confusing, but in there is clarity. As clear as it could be, stirring and sinking the mind.

It’s unsettling, yet comforting. Incomprehensible, light as a feather.

For the first time I kinda get her.

Everything exists in my head. In my head is nothing.

The vast life crushing, imploding.

In this waiting game, trapped in a longing that will never end, ever.

Not until it ends.

Not until it ends.