Very much so desolate are the walkways behind us. We make our own paths through the fields of gray; dredging as we tread through emptiness. I accept the stimulus, but refuse to allow the response. Silent white horses draw me forward through the fog of dust and I embrace the shallow breathing, as if it’s what drives me. I open my arms akimbo and feel the dust slip through my fingers and hammer my skin. I not only accept, I embrace. I allow the terrible places I enter to become home. Yet still, I feel the need to find something; something to give me reason. To be content is only part of the formula; for every man has something that beckons him. Many mistake this as dream-time, and let it slip further away. But I need to catch it. I need it feel it beneath my feet. To move me somewhere new. I need to grab hold of the waves of simulacrum, to feel myself become a part of them. To ride them to my death, and rise yet again, as the illusion breaks down. As the fourth wall crumbles at my grip, I will step through into a whole new world. A world where new words are created every time I open my eyes, just so I may describe what I see. And there, before me, crystals of ice, glowing in the empty space, indifferent to me or anything else, remind me of my place. While once I stood on pedestals, just as gods do, here I am a pawn. Sacrificial when beneficial. Still, to fall from ones pedestal is a necessity when entering this place. And still the frontier beyond me beckons, and I, the ever optimistic, heed the call.