Starry nights illuminate the lost stars in my mind, passing on their eternal flame to burnt-out wicks. Cobwebs sparkle as though misted in dew, and each strand trembles in the winds of memory. If tides could keep count of their ebb and flow, the number would approach infinity and dissolve into sea foam, and the rhythm would be new again. And so my mind ticks on; a steady beat in my heart tracks each passing second but not each passing word, as scenes glow and fade behind my eyes. No thought passes through each hollow chamber, only fleeting feelings whose timbres echo like those of wind chimes. I breathe and the world is still, I breathe and the world is spinning. I breathe and the world goes black.