The table is long. It stretches like a spine. You sit at the head. The candles are tall. They burn low. The wax pools. It looks like blood. It looks like tears. You are alone. Or so it seems. The air is thick. It tastes of ash and honey. There are guests. You do not see them. You hear them. They hum. It is a low sound. It vibrates in your teeth. You are an exile. You crossed the sea. You left your home. You left your name. You are no one here. The food is rich. It is dark. You eat. You do not taste it. It turns to dust in your mouth. You swallow. It hurts.

There is a friend. His name is Elias. He is your ally. He sits beside you. He is real. He is warm. He smells of rain. He looks at you. His eyes are kind. He does not speak. He nods. You nod back. The humming stops. The silence is heavy. It presses against your eardrums. You feel the weight of it. You feel the weight of your past. You carry it in your bones. It is a stone. It is cold. It is hard. You cannot drop it. You must carry it.

The room shifts. The walls breathe. The candles flicker. Shadows dance. They are not shadows. They are shapes. They have no face. They have no form. They are the unknown. They are the fear. They circle the table. They whisper. They want you. They want to take you. You stand. You face them. You do not run. You do not hide. You raise your hand. You push them away. They recoil. They hiss. You are strong. You are the conqueror. You defeat them. They vanish. The room is still. The air is clear. You sit down. Elias smiles. You smile. It is a victory. It is small. It is fragile.

The second shift comes. The table lengthens. The candles grow. They burn higher. The wax flows faster. It drips onto the table. It drips onto your hand. It burns. You do not flinch. You watch it. You feel the pain. It is sharp. It is real. You look at Elias. He is gone. His chair is empty. The seat is warm. The fabric is stained. With what? With blood? With wine? You do not know. You look at your hand. The burn is red. It is angry. It is alive. You look at the table. The food is gone. The plates are empty. The cups are broken. The glass is sharp. It cuts your finger. You do not feel it. You are numb. You are cold.

The third shift comes. The table breaks. It snaps in two. The wood splinters. The sound is loud. It is like a scream. The candles fall. They roll on the floor. They go out. The dark is total. It is absolute. You cannot see. You cannot breathe. The air is gone. You gasp. You choke. You reach out. You feel the floor. It is cold. It is wet. It is slime. You crawl. You crawl toward the light. There is no light. There is only the dark. You crawl. You crawl. You feel a hand. It is small. It is warm. It is Elias. He is there. He is not gone. He is waiting. You grab his hand. You pull him up. You stand. You are together. You are one.

You open your eyes. The room is bright. The sun is high. The table is wood. It is plain. It is old. The candles are wax. They are white. They are clean. There is no blood. There is no tear. The food is bread. It is simple. It is dry. You eat. You taste it. It is stale. It is bitter. You chew. You swallow. It is hard. You look at Elias. He is there. He is real. He is old. His face is lined. His eyes are dim. He is not young. He is not strong. He is weak. He is tired. He looks at you. He does not smile. He does not nod. He looks away. He looks at the window. The light is harsh. It is white. It is blind.

You realize the truth. It is slow. It is painful. It comes like a wave. It hits you. You are not the conqueror. You are not the victor. You are not the exile. You are the ghost. You have been dead for years. You do not know how long. You do not know where you are. You are in a place that does not exist. Or it does. It is the space between. It is the gap. It is the void. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are alone. Elias is not your ally. He is your mirror. He is your shadow. He is the part of you that you killed. He is the part of you that you buried. He is the friend you lost. He is the love you destroyed.

The love was friendship. It was deep. It was pure. It was the only thing that mattered. You crossed the sea for him. You left your home for him. You became nothing for him. You gave everything. You gave your name. You gave your face. You gave your soul. You consumed it. You ate it. You drank it. You let it burn you. You let it hollow you out. You were the fire. He was the fuel. And now he is ash. And you are the smoke. You are rising. You are fading. You are disappearing.

The dark returns. It is not black. It is grey. It is the color of fog. It is the color of memory. It is the color of forgetting. The table is gone. The floor is gone. The air is gone. You are floating. You are weightless. You are free. But freedom is cold. Freedom is empty. You reach out. You feel for him. You feel for the warmth. You feel for the pain. You find nothing. You find only the void. You are the void. You are the silence. You are the end.

You choose. You choose to let go. You choose to stop fighting. You choose to stop pushing. You stop raising your hand. You stop pushing the shadows away. You let them in. You let them touch you. You let them hold you. You let them take you. You stop resisting. You stop conquering. You stop being the exile. You stop being the ghost. You stop being the fire. You stop being the fuel. You are nothing. You are everyone. You are the air. You are the light. You are the dark.

The humming starts again. It is not loud. It is soft. It is gentle. It is a lullaby. It is a song. It is the song of the sea. It is the song of the wind. It is the song of the stars. You hum along. You do not know the words. You do not need to know. You feel them. You feel the rhythm. You feel the beat. It matches your heart. It matches your breath. It matches your life. It is slow. It is long. It is endless.

You are in the wilderness. It is not a forest. It is not a desert. It is the space between thoughts. It is the space between words. It is the space between life and death. It is the space between you and him. You walk. You walk slowly. Your feet do not touch the ground. The ground is soft. It is like cloud. It is like mist. You walk. You walk. You do not stop. You cannot stop. You must keep moving. You must keep going. You must keep being.

The light changes. It is no longer white. It is gold. It is warm. It is soft. It wraps around you. It holds you. It protects you. It is not the sun. It is not the moon. It is the light of understanding. It is the light of acceptance. It is the light of peace. You feel it. You feel it in your chest. You feel it in your bones. You feel it in your soul. It is warm. It is safe. It is home.

You see him. Elias. He is there. He is not old. He is not tired. He is young. He is strong. He is whole. He is smiling. He is nodding. He is waiting. He is not a mirror. He is not a shadow. He is a friend. He is a brother. He is a love. He is a loss. He is a gain. He is everything. He is nothing. He is the truth.

You walk toward him. You walk slowly. Your steps are light. Your heart is light. Your mind is light. You are light. You are air. You are spirit. You are free. You are whole. You are complete. You are yourself. You are the self you chose. You are the self you defined. You are the self you let go. You are the self you became.

The distance closes. It is not far. It is not near. It is close. It is intimate. It is personal. You see his face. You see his eyes. They are bright. They are clear. They are kind. They are sad. They are happy. They are full. They are empty. They are everything. You reach out. You touch his hand. It is warm. It is real. It is solid. It is there. You hold it. You do not let go. You do not want to let go. You never want to let go.

But you must. You must let go. You must let him go. You must let yourself go. The light is fading. The gold is turning to grey. The grey is turning to black. The black is turning to white. The white is turning to light. The light is turning to nothing. Nothing is turning to everything. Everything is turning to nothing.

You open your eyes. The table is long. It stretches like a spine. You sit at the head. The candles are tall. They burn low. The wax pools. It looks like blood. It looks like tears. You are alone. Or so it seems. The air is thick. It tastes of ash and honey. There are guests. You do not see them. You hear them. They hum. It is a low sound. It vibrates in your teeth. You are an exile. You crossed the sea. You left your home. You left your name. You are no one here. The food is rich. It is dark. You eat. You do not taste it. It turns to dust in your mouth. You swallow. It hurts.

There is a friend. His name is Elias. He is your ally. He sits beside you. He is real. He is warm. He smells of rain. He looks at you. His eyes are kind. He does not speak. He nods. You nod back. The humming stops. The silence is heavy. It presses against your eardrums. You feel the weight of it. You feel the weight of your past. You carry it in your bones. It is a stone. It is cold. It is hard. You cannot drop it. You must carry it.

The room shifts. The walls breathe. The candles flicker. Shadows dance. They are not shadows. They are shapes. They have no face. They have no form. They are the unknown. They are the fear. They circle the table. They whisper. They want you. They want to take you. You stand. You face them. You do not run. You do not hide. You raise your hand. You push them away. They recoil. They hiss. You are strong. You are the conqueror. You defeat them. They vanish. The room is still. The air is clear. You sit down. Elias smiles. You smile. It is a victory. It is small. It is fragile.

The second shift comes. The table lengthens. The candles grow. They burn higher. The wax flows faster. It drips onto the table. It drips onto your hand. It burns. You do not flinch. You watch it. You feel the pain. It is sharp. It is real. You look at Elias. He is gone. His chair is empty. The seat is warm. The fabric is stained. With what? With blood? With wine? You do not know. You look at your hand. The burn is red. It is angry. It is alive. You look at the table. The food is gone. The plates are empty. The cups are broken. The glass is sharp. It cuts your finger. You do not feel it. You are numb. You are cold.

The third shift comes. The table breaks. It snaps in two. The wood splinters. The sound is loud. It is like a scream. The candles fall. They roll on the floor. They go out. The dark is total. It is absolute. You cannot see. You cannot breathe. The air is gone. You gasp. You choke. You reach out. You feel the floor. It is cold. It is wet. It is slime. You crawl. You crawl toward the light. There is no light. There is only the dark. You crawl. You crawl. You feel a hand. It is small. It is warm. It is Elias. He is there. He is not gone. He is waiting. You grab his hand. You pull him up. You stand. You are together. You are one.

You open your eyes. The room is bright. The sun is high. The table is wood. It is plain. It is old. The candles are wax. They are white. They are clean. There is no blood. There is no tear. The food is bread. It is simple. It is dry. You eat. You taste it. It is stale. It is bitter. You chew. You swallow. It is hard. You look at Elias. He is there. He is real. He is old. His face is lined. His eyes are dim. He is not young. He is not strong. He is weak. He is tired. He looks at you. He does not smile. He does not nod. He looks away. He looks at the window. The light is harsh. It is white. It is blind.

You realize the truth. It is slow. It is painful. It comes like a wave. It hits you. You are not the conqueror. You are not the victor. You are not the exile. You are the ghost. You have been dead for years. You do not know how long. You do not know where you are. You are in a place that does not exist. Or it does. It is the space between. It is the gap. It is the void. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are alone. Elias is not your ally. He is your mirror. He is your shadow. He is the part of you that you killed. He is the part of you that you buried. He is the friend you lost. He is the love you destroyed.

The love was friendship. It was deep. It was pure. It was the only thing that mattered. You crossed the sea for him. You left your home for him. You became nothing for him. You gave everything. You gave your name. You gave your face. You gave your soul. You consumed it. You ate it. You drank it. You let it burn you. You let it hollow you out. You were the fire. He was the fuel. And now he is ash. And you are the smoke. You are rising. You are fading. You are disappearing.

The dark returns. It is not black. It is grey. It is the color of fog. It is the color of memory. It is the color of forgetting. The table is gone. The floor is gone. The air is gone. You are floating. You are weightless. You are free. But freedom is cold. Freedom is empty. You reach out. You feel for him. You feel for the warmth. You feel for the pain. You find nothing. You find only the void. You are the void. You are the silence. You are the end.

You choose. You choose to let go. You choose to stop fighting. You choose to stop pushing. You stop raising your hand. You stop pushing the shadows away. You let them in. You let them touch you. You let them hold you. You let them take you. You stop resisting. You stop conquering. You stop being the exile. You stop being the ghost. You stop being the fire. You stop being the fuel. You are nothing. You are everyone. You are the air. You are the light. You are the dark.

The humming starts again. It is not loud. It is soft. It is gentle. It is a lullaby. It is a song. It is the song of the sea. It is the song of the wind. It is the song of the stars. You hum along. You do not know the words. You do not need to know. You feel them. You feel the rhythm. You feel the beat. It matches your heart. It matches your breath. It matches your life. It is slow. It is long. It is endless.

You are in the wilderness. It is not a forest. It is not a desert. It is the space between thoughts. It is the space between words. It is the space between life and death. It is the space between you and him. You walk. You walk slowly. Your feet do not touch the ground. The ground is soft. It is like cloud. It is like mist. You walk. You walk. You do not stop. You cannot stop. You must keep moving. You must keep going. You must keep being.

The light changes. It is no longer white. It is gold. It is warm. It is soft. It wraps around you. It holds you. It protects you. It is not the sun. It is not the moon. It is the light of understanding. It is the light of acceptance. It is the light of peace. You feel it. You feel it in your chest. You feel it in your bones. You feel it in your soul. It is warm. It is safe. It is home.

You see him. Elias. He is there. He is not old. He is not tired. He is young. He is strong. He is whole. He is smiling. He is nodding. He is waiting. He is not a mirror. He is not a shadow. He is a friend. He is a brother. He is a love. He is a loss. He is a gain. He is everything. He is nothing. He is the truth.

You walk toward him. You walk slowly. Your steps are light. Your heart is light. Your mind is light. You are light. You are air. You are spirit. You are free. You are whole. You are complete. You are yourself. You are the self you chose. You are the self you defined. You are the self you let go. You are the self you became.

The distance closes. It is not far. It is not near. It is close. It is intimate. It is personal. You see his face. You see his eyes. They are bright. They are clear. They are kind. They are sad. They are happy. They are full. They are empty. They are everything. You reach out. You touch his hand. It is warm. It is real. It is solid. It is there. You hold it. You do not let go. You do not want to let go. You never want to let go.

But you must. You must let go. You must let him go. You must let yourself go. The light is fading. The gold is turning to grey. The grey is turning to black. The black is turning to white. The white is turning to light. The light is turning to nothing. Nothing is turning to everything. Everything is turning to nothing.