I had nothing but time. Endless time. At first, it was madness. Then enlightment. Then madness again. But perhaps it was a gift. I could see the life of time. And as I watched the life of time in all its fleeting, terrible light, I wondered, had I lived? Was I just the object in another's story? Was that all I ever was? Could I be more? I had nothing but time and still no answer. Time without purpose is a prison. I have glimpsed into the mind of eternity. Perhaps the mind of God. And found nothing but silence.