And it’s back again, back again to this corner of the universe. His corner of the universe, where light is fading and what is left is a silhouette of dancing fingers against the dim, synthetic light.

He tries to find peace.

He lies, facedown, and fears the sinking. The feeling you get when all you believed in was no more than little bumps on everybody else’s path. He’s used to feeling like he never belonged, just like the eternal sounds of the masters – every note bouncing off the tunnel walls. The glass fizzles like the dying embers of a fire that once was, and retreats into the echoes of eternity. What do you do, when you are made to feel the world’s pain on top of your own? When is it ever right to give yourself up for others, to feel someone else’s pain above your own, and recklessly giving it your all? Does it matter if the world takes you for granted?

He tries to find a light.

He knows that he’ll never be like the rest. He’s not capable of it. He’ll know, but no one will ever find out. It isn’t even for the lack of trying. He wonders if the fire would ever come back – crackling in the warmth of winter – but he realizes that every fire burns out one day, unless you choose to feed it over and again. So no, the problem was never about giving. The problem was always drawing blanks, even as he gave himself up.

He looks up as the light dies outside, and the intricate dance of synthetic fingers slow to an eventual halt. Outside this room, the world moves on. At the end of this tunnel, perhaps one day there’ll be a light.

At least the darkness was his to own.