There is no one here.

It's quiet here, but not soft or dim. The air crawling into the crevices of my lungs feels damp, and salty. The clouds above are black, filtering the sunlight to shadow; though the air is warm, an echo of the sun of a time gone by. The wind blows strongly but without sound, how is that?

There's no one here. 

A flash of light over the sea. And then a mumbling, rumbling. A growing, growling, groaning, shaking the ground sort of sound. And then it goes again. The tide goes out, on a chain pulled by the ocean's claws. Is this the last time it will recede? Has the last of the ocean's waves waved?

This is my mind. And there is no one here. Or are you?