I am now sixty-three years old. My hair is white with streaks of grey; my teeth, all gone. I have no one left at all.
Through the looking-glass, I watch my bony fingers touch my wrinkled face. I'd rather lose a thousand lives than this one shot at bliss...
I swallow the pill.
Suddenly, everything is hazy. I begin to travel to a place where dreams are reality, where I am not alone and where, instead of being the person I am but do not wish to be, I become the person I've always yearned for.
My thoughts are alive.
