The road I travel is padded by autumn leaves on a brisk cool morning. It is not bright outside, it’s still dark. I travel alone with no interruption but the world passing behind me in the distance. Orange glimmers through the trees and splashes on every individual brick. The fog intensifies the robust color. Heartbeat, my feet, and far away cars are floating on the very light breeze. I could walk here forever, but do I want too? Should I reach the end? “Maybe it’s better if I just stay here,” as I tread on. The orange light has a studder and the fog clears. The road is now visible, I know my path. Strangely enough, I’m not excited to know what’s coming. I enjoy being blind to the world like a kid.
“Isn’t it kinda funny, isn’t it kinda sad? The dreams in which I’m dying, are the best I’ve ever had.”