Space, the glowing quiver of infinity in the palm of your hands. Suspense in layers, progression of invisible strings; the beat of your heart fades into an intense glow in the night.

Suspend it in mid-air, admire the flow of light – the twists, the turns, and the inevitable disappearance into nothingness, only to be replaced by the sound of the waves. Hear it crash. The same note rings through the muffled air, a forever note but without character. There he smiles, in sadness but in hope, in the face of a future as tangible as the water on which he stands. Perhaps this is how we all drown in forever.

An autumn past, a twirl of leaves rustling through a never ending summer. In the end we could only watch as a dream materialises in the palms of our hands, and watch again as the dream mercilessly ends. The end of the beginning, on the shelves of eternity, looking out at a sky no clearer than your heart. Pick out a book and have a seat. Feel the texture of these walls – the phantom pain of the future you used to have. Consider.

Where now sits choice, there too she sat. A wisp of the future, a scent from memory, a shadow on the wall. Choice, it seems, was never one.