I have not seen daylight for so long now, just the cold walls of darkness as I stagger blindly over the cuts of my making.
Because it is hard to see I can only feel, and I have felt a pain that bleeds under the blade of memory. But the blood is not as painful as the night. It never is. At night even the moon hides. I remember a time when the moon seemed so close that I could reach out and touch it, that I could pull it to my chest and weep within its wonder.