I can feel the touch of my doubts etching away. It disappears slowly at the sound of a snap, followed by a quick, short clap. Its echo halts and I only hear breathing, my warm breath, stale, and warm. The silence vanishes as soon as my pivoting foot pushes against the earth and I’m pacing around the room. It’s a slow and easy pace, easy enough to follow along, effortlessly. I’m remembering everything I’ve said to anyone I’ve honestly cared for. I’ve only cared for most people, but in a long enough lifetime I have forgetting about half of them, and it continues to wither away into just a memory. There is no love, there is no flaw, only decisions made, and reactions acted out. The memory serves my time in the void, and it’s releasing damp petals before each step. It guides me closer to the person I am, to the father I will become, to the death that will be met. I’m revising my own thoughts before I say them, and I’m thinking about my own faults before I make them. What I remembered to feel when it should be felt, it ends up being too late. What I forget to say, and forget to remember; it all depends on how much I’ve slept that night. Everything, depends, if I’ve slept at all. If I’ve woken up from my personal coma. The time is here and the time for coffee. As soon as I wake up, my perfection shall be met, with recollection, but enough manifesting, it’s time to act.