Within the flickering of a weak light, with the onset of a deep night, I sit here with parchment and  quill and think to myself. Why bother, what does it serve, for none will read this after I am gone, and to none I will show this while I am alive. Yet still, to the ink well, my quill goes, I sit and watch as it slowly drips of the end, staining the parchment, I will write about this too. For within my mind even these thoughts I have now shall have its own place too among the scratches, the sweeps, the loops, the presses, the punctures that have yet to mar the rough  deliverer of my mind.

I squeeze a breath between my teeth and begin to delve further and further in a black deeper than the night beyond my candles light. I dredge between the memories within the halls of my mind and gaze with a fondness I did not know I had at what lies within. A fondness not felt when I lived them. I find it funny how time changes things, inside and outside of the body. The thoughts I once had seem trivial now but at the time seemed so important, so overwhelmingly secular to the world I perceived at that time.

As I swim within my memories thinking of what once was and of what will come to be my hand moves at its own rhythm. With each beat of my heart a character is placed, with each breath of my lungs a word is completed. My eyes cloud over as I forget what is around my and drown within. I started with a trepidation, I started with maybe even a little cynicism as to why I want to start. Yet as I watch the words take on a runic quality, I feel like I am back when I first tried magic and scribed a simple spell. The same feeling , minus the cynicism, held me back then.

The more I scribe the more the words seem runic the more they seem to call to me as a humming fills my mind. Gone are the memories, gone are all thoughts within as I continue to write eager to complete whatever form the words will take once I finish this piece of parchment. I believed that the first thing I would write would be a memory and instead it is a rambling. My own partially manic laugh echoes within my small room and the candle flickers with a wild abandon.I feel nothing now as something else has taken over, and yet there is a pause.

…

…

This break stretches for a while, I hear my own breath in faint pants, I nearly convince myself that it is instead a dog. If only other living things were near I would almost be able to convince myself it was true. I steady myself and will put the quill down soon, the inkwell is nearly dry. The rune is almost complete as I pass my eyes over the curved lines of words, the placement of words and sentences that seem almost random except for how the eye is drawn from one part and continues in congruently in another. I imagine there will be an arcanic glow when this is completed, the anticipation fills me while I hover and wait to place one final dot.