No, I am not dead. No, I am not alive. I exist in a perpetual state of limbo, teetering on the edge of both worlds. My body breathes, my heart still beats, but the essence of life that once inhabited these limbs, now flickers like a dying flame.

I walk amongst the living, yet I remain a ghost in their midst. Invisible. Unheard. Unseen. A mere observer of a world that once held meaning, now reduced to mere shadows and echoes. The laughter that once filled the air now falls upon deaf ears. The vibrant colors of life are dulled, muted, as if viewed through a veil of sorrow.

It began with a loss. A loss so profound, it eclipsed my very being. The light within me waned, smothered by the impenetrable darkness that consumed my soul. Grief clung to me like a shroud, like tendrils of smoke winding their way around my fragile frame. Life became an unbearable weight upon my chest, pressing down, suffocating me.

And so, I embraced the path of the living dead. No longer bound by the constraints of societal expectations, I drifted through the days like a specter. Time lost its meaning, blending into an indistinguishable blur of minutes and hours, days and nights.

I sought solace in the places where spirit and matter intertwine. In the rays of the setting sun, casting a golden hue upon the world. In the dance of the leaves, carried by the wind, as they whispered...