When I was a child the distance between myself and the corner of the room terrified me. I would close my eyes, to try to forget its infinity, but what hid behind my eyelids was no better. They both gave me a feeling of floating somewhere, my equilibrium would become unhinged. At times I swore that I could never reach that corner of the room, no matter how many millennia I wasted trying to reach it. Eventually they would begin to speak, ever so silently. Their voices would rise along with their emotions, but their words would remain unintelligible. I could only make out simple sentence filling words, but the subject would remain hidden. One particular night I saw the yellow lines of a road traveling past my vision at a great speed, while they continued to speak their consistent nothings. Though the lines moved at such a speed, I had retained the sensation of remaining stationary. I was so close to the yellow lines that I could have counted how many atoms they were across, and I could have measured the distance between those atoms.

A quite different and a quite similar vision to the distance to the corner.

Though when I was outside; the distance between myself and the sky or the stars was never startling. In fact, the abyss between the stars provided some amount of a strange comfort. It just never seemed as infinite as the air between myself and the corner of the room.

These were, and still are my visions. Some nights they still speak to me, but they have grown quiet and distant. Some nights the corner of the room tries to loom over me omnipresently. Some nights it succeeds. Some nights I stand up and touch its seam.

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