[ he smile faintly before glancing away. ]

Sometimes, I think I carry within me, a little void. From my time there. Because I remember . . . being a speck of dust in the universe. Utterly forgotten, utterly alone. I thought it made me strong, to know such things. But over time, I found knowing that makes it harder to fill myself with joy.

I live vicariously, but vicarious joys don't last. Nothing truly does. Not even Gods, it seems. So I might enjoy it for a time, but what I enjoy varies from moment to moment.