Strange to be so silent, he simply wasn't used to this. And yet, it had been this way for years. He was an early riser. He loved the quiet of morning. His time for peace.
So strange, silent rain. Inside was nothing but turmoil. His inner emotions were boiling. He knew not what the outcome was. He just knew the reality. This silence was life. Guess it was time to make the most of it.
The light was the pale light of winter. He knew it well. His entire life was winter. That's the way he felt. To live was to be distant, be cold. Nothing satisfied anymore, nothing had taste, nothing mattered. He spoke rough with people, didn't put up with nonsense.
He knew it was time to fade away. Become the ghost. Man with no past, man with no present. A whisper, a dream. He didn't belong, he didn't exist.
Whispers of a memory, it what was always destined, time to stop fighting what was, and give in. And while this saddened him, it was simply what was. There is only so long that you can live your life in a dream that doesn't exist.
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