It's cold up here. Endless. In everywhich direction, there is only silence. I barely hear my bare feet slapping, against the glass panel sea, over the sharp, frantic intake of my breath. I go nowhere fast, and I'm always anywhere than where I starve to be. I'm alone. Not even a reflection to keep me company. It would show me nothing anyway, why bother.
It's still cold up here. Endless.