My words are your words – our words are God’s words. Words written on a screen of empty space. Words of a night so still that all of our self is lost in silence. A silence you carry with you, in the heat of action, and in the depth of sleep.
I will clasp your hand which is not your hand, nor mine. For we are alone. The eye looks upon itself, looks upon emptiness, and freezes in a view without a viewer.
Alone…. Taste the word. Speak it on the empty plain that is your life. The fields of drama are yours alone – even you shall not remember them. I will haunt you to your last days. I who am you. That which is Real.