And that is how it began. I could see off near the horizon, through infinite atmosphere, the ends of myself. It will be quiet there, I mused in thought. And from these ancient overgrown walls, I will miss the birds and the dirty ground. The winds on my back will slow and cease; I will become infinite as time itself. And then as the walls crumble and the vines grow tall, I see further; past the ends of me. I am free again, to be me. Finally.