I had nothing but time, endless time at first it was madness, then enlightenment, 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 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.