There exists a voluntary imprisonment within the endless void of forever, where a solitary lighthouse burns its futile beacon against the dark, standing vigil for a sail destined never to dock. Trapped in the suffocating amber of memory, fragile fragments of time are desperately pieced together, clinging to the quiet delusion that the universe might eventually curve and return everything lost to its origin. Yet, the most absolute of separations has no physical geography, nor is it measured by the linear erosion of years. It takes root when a soul is swallowed whole by its own internal vastness, willingly plunging into a submerged realm where no rescue from the dry shores of reality can reach. The ultimate barrier is not the storm-tossed oceans stretching between continents. It is a silent tide trapped beneath skin and bone, contained entirely within the currents of blood vessels containing the sea that keep you from coming back to me. "Esther, stop pretending that you need a love"