You stand before the gate.

It is iron. It is rust. It is tall. You cannot see over it. You can only see up. The sky above is grey. It is thick. It is heavy. It does not move. It waits. You are not alone. There is another here. She is small. She is young. She holds a basket. The basket is empty. She looks at you. Her eyes are dark. Her eyes are wet. She does not speak. She only looks. You know her. You do not know how. You know the shape of her face. You know the tilt of her head. You know the way she stands. She is your daughter. You are certain. You are sure. The thought is a blade. It cuts you. You pull your hand back. You do not touch her. You cannot touch her. The air between you is cold. The air is thick. It tastes of ash. It tastes of blood.

The gate groans. It moves. It opens. You step inside. The ground is soft. It is moss. The moss is green. It is bright. It is alive. It pulses under your feet. You feel it. It feels like a heartbeat. It is not your heartbeat. It is the ground's heartbeat. You walk forward. You do not run. You walk. You are tired. Your bones ache. Your muscles burn. You are old. You are young. You are both. You are no one. You are everything.

The path winds. It turns. It goes down. You descend. The air grows colder. The light grows dimmer. The moss changes. It turns blue. It turns black. It becomes hard. It becomes stone. You stop. You breathe. Your breath is white. It hangs in the air. It does not rise. It sinks. It falls to the ground. It joins the stone.

A voice calls out. It is soft. It is far away. It is close. It is everywhere. It is no one. It is everyone.

"Come."

You do not move. You freeze. Your heart stops. Your mind stops. You listen. You wait.

"Come."

The voice is kind. The voice is cruel. The voice is yours. You know this. You have always known this. You are the voice. You are the one who calls. You are the one who waits. You are the one who stays.

You move. You walk. You go down. The path ends. It opens into a room. The room is large. The room is empty. There is a table. The table is wood. The wood is dark. The wood is old. There is a chair. The chair is empty. There is a book. The book is closed. The book is heavy.

You sit. You sit down. You are still. You are calm. You are quiet. You look at the book. You open the book. The pages are blank. The pages are white. The pages are clean. You close the book. You open it again. It is blank. You close it. You open it. It is blank.

A door opens. A figure enters. It is tall. It is thin. It wears a robe. The robe is grey. The face is hidden. The face is blank. The figure walks to you. It stands before you. It does not speak. It waits.

You speak. You say, "Who are you?"

The figure does not answer. The figure tilts its head. The figure smiles. The smile is sad. The smile is kind. The smile is wrong.

You speak again. You say, "Where is she?"

The figure nods. The figure points. The figure points to the book. You look at the book. You look at the figure. You look at the ground. The ground is stone. The stone is cold. The stone is hard.

You stand up. You leave the room. You walk back. You walk up. The path returns. The moss returns. The green returns. The life returns. You reach the gate. The gate is closed. The gate is locked. The gate is iron. The gate is rust.

You are outside. You are free. You are gone. You are back. You are here.

The girl is there. She is still there. She holds the basket. The basket is empty. She looks at you. Her eyes are dark. Her eyes are wet. She does not speak. She only looks.

You look at her. You look at her face. You look at her eyes. You see the truth. You see the lie. You see the self.

You are not her father.

You are her ghost.

You are her shadow.

You are her memory.

You are her sin.

You are her debt.

You are the thing that haunts her. You are the thing that follows her. You are the thing that never leaves. You are the thing that waits. You are the thing that calls.

You open your mouth. You try to speak. You try to say her name. You try to say, "I am sorry." You try to say, "I love you." You try to say, "It is over."

Nothing comes out. No sound comes out. No air comes out. You are silent. You are mute. You are dead.

She steps forward. She steps closer. She reaches out. Her hand is small. Her hand is soft. Her hand is cold. She touches your face. She touches your cheek. She touches your eye.

She closes her eyes. She opens them. She looks at you. She does not see you. She sees through you. She sees the air. She sees the light. She sees the gate.

She turns. She walks away. She walks into the field. The field is green. The field is wide. The field is empty. She walks fast. She runs. She runs away. She runs from you. She runs from the gate. She runs from the past.

You stand still. You do not move. You do not follow. You cannot follow. You are bound. You are tied. You are stuck. You are here. You are always here.

The sun sets. The light fades. The shadows grow. The shadows are long. The shadows are dark. The shadows are deep. You stand in the shadow. You are part of the shadow. You are the shadow.

The night comes. The stars come. The stars are bright. The stars are cold. The stars are far. The stars are watching. The stars are judging. The stars are waiting.

You wait. You wait for her to come back. You wait for her to remember. You wait for her to forgive. You wait for her to let you go. You wait for the end. You wait for the release. You wait for the peace.

It does not come. It never comes.

The moon rises. The moon is full. The moon is white. The moon is cold. The moon is a mirror. It reflects you. It reflects your face. It reflects your eyes. It reflects your soul.

You look at the moon. You look at your reflection. You see the truth. You see the cycle. You see the wheel. You see the turn.

You were the father. You were the sinner. You were the ghost. You were the shadow. You are the daughter now. You will be the father again. You will be the sinner again. You will be the ghost again. You will be the shadow again.

It never stops. It never ends. It never breaks. It never heals.

The gate groans. The gate opens. You step inside. The ground is soft. The moss is green. The path winds. The path turns. The path goes down.

You are here. You are waiting. You are calling.

"Come."

The voice is yours. The voice is kind. The voice is cruel. The voice is true.

You stand before the gate. You are alone. You are not alone. You are everyone. You are no one. You are the gate. You are the rust. You are the iron. You are the stone. You are the moss. You are the light. You are the dark.

You are the threshold.

You are the distance.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

The girl is there. She is small. She is young. She holds the basket. The basket is empty. She looks at you. Her eyes are dark. Her eyes are wet.

She does not speak. She only looks.

You do not move. You do not breathe. You do not live. You do not die. You are.

The wind blows. The wind is cold. The wind is strong. The wind is loud. The wind is silent.

The leaves fall. The leaves are red. The leaves are dry. The leaves are dead. The leaves are gone.

The snow falls. The snow is white. The snow is soft. The snow is cold. The snow is pure.

The snow covers you. The snow covers the ground. The snow covers the gate. The snow covers the girl. The snow covers the world.

You are white. You are cold. You are still. You are gone.

The girl is gone. The gate is gone. The world is gone.

There is only the snow. There is only the white. There is only the silence.

There is only the wait.

There is only the turn.

There is only the wheel.

There is only the loop.

There is only you.

There is only me.

There is only us.

There is only nothing.

There is only everything.

There is only the breath.

There is only the heart.

There is only the love.

There is only the pain.

There is only the truth.

There is only the lie.

There is only the end.

There is only the start.

There is only the middle.

There is only the now.

There is only the here.

There is only the wait.

The gate groans.

The gate opens.

You step inside.

The ground is soft.

The moss is green.

The path winds.

The path turns.

The path goes down.

You are here.

You are waiting.

You are calling.

"Come."

The voice is yours.

The voice is kind.

The voice is cruel.

The voice is true.