What is this place, this gloomy doom that is my ageless prison? I spend my moments drifting aimlessly from one memory to another, listlessly observing life as it is, as it was. Sometimes I sit by the sea as I used to with Amy before she too disappeared - the endless, noiseless cycle of waves provides a soothing yet insubstantial parallel to my existence here. I sit there oblivious to the passing of the days, and even perhaps the seasons - who can tell? I long to see how my children and now grandchildren are getting on but the pain of seeing them without the possibility of touch is too much to bear, so I don’t.
My grief overwhelms me but I know not where to turn.
