The heat of this eternal winter is burning the blisters on my feet, my eyes are full of the tears the hot Sun is causing. Endlessly trudging along towards the horizon, covering the miles over this desert of grayish sands with only a vague memory of the determined stride I once took forward. The focus of my current existence is layed on the next little rock I need to go around or that puddle of murky water I decided to walk across yesterday. Some time ago I thought I was tired and needed a rest, so I stopped under a tree for a year to let my heels cool off. As seasons swept by I found myself sitting under the tree while walking on a different kind of desert - a smaller, spherical one which you can never leave unless you return to the grayish sands. A recursion of deserts in the eyes of the walker, you may call it. So I got back and now I walk again and shift in and out of nightmares and dreams and hopes and one day I will reach the shore and I will have crossed the desert and I will be unsatisfied with the views I saw while looking at my feet dragging along and I will regret the turns I made on the straight path and I will state with firmness that it has been a good trip after all and that I have done a lot along the way and then I will plunge into the waters to be forgotten just like everyone else.