So I touch the sun. That is apparent. I voice my appeals and the stars write my story. Remarkable the light. Remarkable the delight it gives me. The frolic clouds below. I can see them with an eery eye. I feel at home in the darkness. I still have a part of me at that island. That island out at sea. The slave that wandered the island was a companion I wish could see this. This view of the world. He seemed to like things like this. I wonder what he is up to now. Maybe I will never know. Maybe the friendship was just in my head. Maybe it was just another appeal in the court of thought. The jury was my eyes and the judge was my heart. I had always walked the road. The road of rhetoric. The rhetoric nature of life. It spoke to me in a soothing manner. An umbrella of thought had always dissipated any motivation to step out into the real world. I had always enjoyed the stories I read. The authors, the writers. I wanted to be a storyteller just like them. The world I could create. The stories I could share. I wanted to be a part of it. I wasn’t sure of where I would start. This is a mystery for which still conquers me today.