For a moment. An instant.

A god-forsaken moment.

You consider. Perhaps. It’s possible. That this is folly.

Are you killing yourself in this pursuit? Is there an end to this? Is this maze anything other than a maze? Does it count as a maze if there is no goal? A maze needs a goal. Or a perception of one. All you can think about is what you are seeking, and yet, you have no idea what it is.

This is beyond obsession. This is sickness. This is fetish. This is a fanaticism beyond any theological or religious zeal. This is a rot deep at the very centre of you.

You are broken.