Time slows when you enter a void. Whether of your own doing,Or having them thrust upon a life. Recalling a void appears as a blip. As if the years spent in solitude merged and compiled on top of one another into a single yesterday. Yesterday I was five years old, reaching for my mother's hand. Yesterday you were twenty, reaching for a false future. Yesterday I am thirty, reaching for anything. I’ve given up trying to predict these moments of black. Trying to gauge how and when to move. They operate on their own, aiming straight-for passed me. Victims to their graze and the imprints that they leave.Tempted to plunge into the darkness. Or is it the light?