4th May 1671

I Speak in spectrals and broken english, language is no longer necessary to a lifeless soul as I. The numbness rises and my poor dead body lays unknown, I am fairy lights in ashes and old cobwebs spun anew. I am a gentle breeze on road side shrubs and storms in far off places, I am the moats of sunlight upon waking and the fog which clouds your windows at night, my story is in your birth cries and settles in the dew upon your grave. I am now all things and nothing, all the things you need and everything you ignore, I have no meaning and life meant nothing. but through the madness and happenstance, the colours and sounds, the quiet moments and the loudness of a life which screamed from cradle to grave, It meant only that I was alive.

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