It is so sad the way things end like a when a plant dies and dies in a black corner and you’re done for. It is over like the end of summer. The green has dried up and the stalks refuse to dream. This is the death of light , I said, as if quotes were facts or neat sums on a blackboard. The world snaps shut, silence seeps in, lighter than air, colourless and tasteless like carbon monoxide. In here nothing moves except the shadows on the curtains and the shaking of the walls