Incredibly, the state of things has diminished.  I walk along the same path I always have, but it all looks different.  Their eyes are vacant.  The green of the grass is dull.  I feel the breeze against my skin and then I feel nothing. 

The house is different, too.  It was always immense, but I had a sense of home.  Now, I sit by myself even when other people are there.  My thoughts echo the wide halls and escape with a whisper through the fireplace.  Someone else is living inside me.  Where have I gone?  The beetle doesn't know I'm watching.  He moves slowly and with no apparent direction, much like myself. 

The long, white curtains blow gently away from the windows and I'm touched with a glimmer of optimism.  I am not of sanguine nature and realize what will eventually come.  I pine for the end, but cling to the present. 

The record ends, begin again.