Black frosting glazed the path I was walking, the blood was pouring into my shoes from the blisters that had formed on my ankles. The walk had been long so far, but I realized that the distance was much further than I had originally anticipated. It was cold, and my breaths lingered in wisps and curls in the night air. It was surreal, the quiet was, after all the moments of chaos and white-noise my life had become. I was calm, the silence and the loneliness had washed over me. I couldn't feel the pain of the abrasions and scuffs caused by my ill-fitting shoes anymore, all I felt was contented. I wish I could feel that way again, that feeling of soft, warm, comforting finger tips whispering on the inside of my chest. I felt so temperate, I felt I was one with my body and with my thoughts, I felt humbled. I guess there always was a part of me that said to write fictional works, but I had blurred the lines between fact and fiction, I had lost sense of reality on my walk. I had become a different person on my way.