TEXT: It was a difficult knowledge to hold, to have the expectation that the end was nearer. With every day, with every beat, his metabolism defined the pathway to the wall. The daily journey was not marred regularly by his lack of compass, most of the time he didn’t think of it at all. But the final moment would come, and every dynamic, every animation was a small catalyst towards the inevitable. Inspecting his body, the streams of luminosity moved across him, over the folds in his clothes. It was in these strange, private moments, when he could sense time developing, internally and also in the world around him. It was a flow, and things were happening.