There is a distinct sadness to knowing you can never return to that place, the one you see in your dreams, a place clouded in rings of bright dewy mist. You think you might have been happy here once long ago but that memory may have come from a dream too. There were people in this green place, their voices distant but familiar, their quiet chatter and ladylike giggles ringing through the morning air like birdsong. It is so far away, you think idly to yourself, so far a ways to go. You remember this place not, you may have never come here but still, you hold onto it. At some point you see how far you have trekked down the dark road leading into the cavernous mountains. You think of when you were on your hands and knees, that prolonged moment of suffering spreading through your veins like poison. You can taste the bile in your throat when you look back through your eyes to see the barren landscape, burnt to a crisp. There was where you felt the world’s loneliness come down on you like the might of Ares. There is where you remained alone for so long that you pleaded for the silence to end, for the voices to return again. You were neither forgotten nor forgiven, tasked with a relentless doom that haunted your every step. Still you gave sway and moved forward but you will never return to that place. You of all souls cannot be saved. Yours is bound to this realm, this sphere of modernity, this plane of humanity. There is no salvation for you. You then, therefore, have the sole choice to pick your suffering. Will it be in this life or the next?