Floating in the space between the shadows, I look on from my endless purgatory and watch the world change from the outside. Like a projection, it moves in and out of focus. It feels close enough to touch, yet parts like mist whenever I reach for it.
I am everywhere, and nowhere. I traverse the farthest reaches of this nowhere land, and I wonder, am I truly alive, or am I, too, just a projection, the fever dream of some unseen, uncaring god? Even my thoughts are hazy, undefined, and prone to incoherence.
Every day, I drift a little further, disperse a little more completely, and every day, I grow one step closer to inexistence. Now, there is only one question left on my mind: How long can I go on before I’m unmade?
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