Time doesn't matter, there is no clock or calendar, just static scenery. Continuing galleries filled with all the people once known and loved. All free from the tangled process to take that final journey to the houses, the streets, the towns, but only passing through one last time.
There is the soundtrack of tears and laughter, echoing all the way from the Highlands of Scotland to the Tatras of Poland. The last breath is always one of relief, letting go the disappointment that you never set the world on fire and accepting it just burnt you up, like everyone else.
Born frightened, living frightened, dying frightened. always alone but surrounded by a crowd. Clutching at the brief memories when you felt someone knew you were trapped and touched you.
We stand at the graves of the people who gave us toys and who watched us sleep. Before us, they knew all things pass only to begin again, but cared too much for us to ever share that truth.
Picture: Geralt
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