Remains

And when the sun was set upon my world, when the shadows lengthened over the unending winter, when all song had died but for the howling despair of lost ghosts, I closed my eyes and dreamed. In want of warmth, a memory was all I had, and of life, only hope. As like to all of my dead world laying around me in ruins, I laid down in dust. So, I slept, not for ages, not for a day, but for a sleep. There were no marks of time to measure it, and I do not think it counts on any tally. Who would count it? Even death had come for himself. Only I remained; myself and my dreams. The dreams, sometimes lonely, sometimes bright, of what I had known, what I had forgotten, and all I longed to see again. There isn’t a path home for me, or a path beyond this. The dreams are over now, and I find a new world, young and alive, crying out to the heavens, to gods they cannot yet name.

You ask which side I’m on, good or bad, and I don’t know. It has been so long, and I have forgotten who I was. I remember many, many stories. I do not know which one was my own.