Ah, what evil thoughts lie brooding within my brain! Have I yet died unto my failings? For what end has this person used my fears to make for his or herself a wayward mess to dote upon, perhaps even clean? Is it to my failings that I die? Or to someone elses, my grandfather's perhaps...
Something amiss, something assumed. I left the theater touched. Was it by the performance that I was touched, or something else? I closed my eyes and entered the theater of myself, my memory.

And now it is that I distrust even myself. I think evil thoughts, feel evil feelings, dream evil dreams, there is only one possible end in this. Death.

But what death? Death of a young or old woman? In so many ways I feel that I am an old woman. In so many ways I feel that I have been so lucky. If death come, be it swift and let me be well worthy of the death that will end the life I lived!

It isn't death now that troubles me, nor the thought of it. It is Time, Grandfather Time himself who has troubled me, and not that of Death and the Future, as doomed as it may be.
It is Memory, mistress to Time that now hangs heavy upon my brow. Looking, searching for fault, for pain, anger and hurt in Memory is much more difficult than allowing simple Time to take it's place, and as one gazes further inward, the more frustrating the memories become. Some may even be dreams.