VI

Fatigue deepens once more. Like a trench. Like an abandoned levee slowly giving way beneath the weight of another sleepless night. This time, it speaks through the scattered notes of a ghost piano. Nothing else. Every sound heard here originates from a humble virtual instrument, clumsily improvised by yours truly before being patiently dismantled, reshaped and left to wander through the long corridors of nocturnal inexistence. I no longer remember why. Perhaps only to drift a little further beyond sleep.