where it makes sense

Arms extended to my sides, I drag my finger tips along the walls of the hall of Valhalla. The richness of its impact on my touch is like braille to my consciousness. The sweet caressing stench engulfs me and offers an illusion of comfort and control. The imperceptible echo from the friction reminds me of why I’m here- to simply walk down this place. My insignificance within these walls is so thick I can taste it. It tastes bitter, but, somehow relieving, somehow freeing, somehow satisfying and somehow draining, in a good way. But then I see the truth of it all. The hall has no beginning and no end. There is no was,and ┬áthere is no will be. There is only Valhalla, held together by me.

-Enash Doog