text: Reality is forever truly unknown, as we are all stuck with not a concrete and guaranteed knowledge of it, but rather out subjective and ever changing view of it. Sensory deprivation is a way to unleash the mind and it’s creativity. To not feel anything whatsoever will force the mind to hallucinate sensation at whim of thought. These perceptions are no different than any other, being equally as valid an account of reality as the average walk in the park. There was a life with a family. A woman and two children. She was to me what I loved most and without question or yield. The children grew intelligent and successful. They lived with us until they were in their thirties, always aiding and never ungrateful. The woman and I lived into old age with a wonderfully wholesome life to recount whenever faced with the question of how many regrets we had. There was a life without a family. It was the life of a thief. Yet, the thief was never alone, never without his accomplice. We were bound forever by a codependency, friendly affection, and shared experience were. There was never a day that we truly relaxed but never a day that we didn’t exist on our own rules and decisions. The accomplice eventually met his fate. His end was not violent. It was not disgraceful. It was not brought from the evil we had committed. It was a simple illness. A cancer that no amount of money, legitimate or otherwise, could prevent the path of. I was racked with a horrible grief as I mourned for the only friend I would ever have of such caliber. There was a life of war. I was but another soldier traveling to a land I’ve never been to to fight people I’ve never met to claim ownership of said land from people I’ve never met for people I’ve never met. I never minded the redundancy of it all, needlessly proud as I was for my country. Fighting came and I survived. Then I survived again, and again. Everyone I came to know would eventually fall but I always survived. My country praised me and the men that met death by my side. Though I was haunted by the myriad of comrades I happened to outlast, I was truly prideful given the hells I climbed through and lived to tell the tales of. Time is so subjective. I haven’t the faintest idea how much time is passing or how quickly or slowly I may be experiencing it. All I have now are these memories. All I have are these realities. I’m unsure which is real but at this point I’ve imagined dozens.