Steel Fuller, Reporter

Tossing and turning,  laying in bed, trying to calm this crazy head. Thinking about what could have been, should have been, and what would have been. If only I could side with the choice I made, and go on without the what-ifs that drift so perfectly like mist on a hot day. In the forever tangled cord that is life, these thoughts race without end in the room, without purpose. The dreams are vivid, yet ever forgetful. There is no why, no when, and no how.

There is only the life that coincides with the darkness. In this blackness, there is no concept of space,  yet I am confined to the imperceptible walls of this room; however, noticeable in this empty abyss, there is a door. Only through the never-ending absence of light could I reach that door. Maybe it holds everything that can be perceived behind it. Maybe it holds light. I reach, but at last I cannot touch it. It is nothing.

The door…

The door is…

The door is a false hope. Here I stay bound to this gloomy space, with only the thought of nothing to keep me.