I have cried over my loneliness, but I fear it’s better than the alternative.
Someone else has taken to wandering these silent halls.
Someone who moves in secret but leaves a lingering feeling of malice.
Even through my ruined nose, I can smell the rank odors of stale smoke and drink, unwashed clothing and filth.
I fear he looks for me.
He would ask something of me.
Even if I was inclined to show myself to him,
I doubt I could give him what he wants.
I cannot remember the simple ways of human interaction.
Far too much has changed.