In this room, I sit. I sit alone as if, Not human exists or a soul to be seen. I know I am wrong, yet it feels so right. Even if it burns, I feel as if feeling that way. There is no other way to feel. The bitter chilling winds of love, life and old age. Slowly erode my sanity, Yet this sanity stands stoically. Against the tides of time and maelstrom of life. Now it is a faceless statue. That stands alone, With no indicator of who or what had made it. This is a fate, that one must accept. No matter when, or where.