x-no-archive: yes
Is it just a trick of time, of memory?
A kind of dopplering of thought?
Is that all I am?
I don't know.
When I am alone, I am as impenetrable to myself as I must be to others, as
they are to me.
I know there is a being there, a presence, some kind of nexus of thought and
personality, but it is as removed from me, as inaccessible, as any stranger.
My voiceless, invisible, life-long companion.
.
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