Let's just say, I'm at the halfway point. An indescribable mind state. A never ending corridor filled with jumbled portraits of everything I did. The good, the bad, the empty.
My hand is reaching out to your pinky and yes, I grab it and squeeze it with as much strength as my five year old palm can muster.
For in this corridor, I am still a child. A child peering into endless depths too scary to dive into alone. So yes, let me grab your pinky.
You're reluctant. This shouldn't be your problem but it's not like you can leave your pinky behind, right? So we walk.
Our bare feet embracing the cold gooey substance decorating the corridor floor.
You want to turn back but the darkness seems to follow closely behind, engulfing our footsteps. I guess that's optimistic, kind of? Only move forward! I mean.
The corridor gets steeper, we slide a little and in an attempt to gain balance my hand fills yours. I'm fifteen all of a sudden and nervous over every little thing. I want to let go but the pinky promise is a binding contract after all. One mortal men dare not break.
How will it all end you wonder? As it always has? Can man break the cycle that makes him man? Or does he break the cycle because he is... man.
You don't get it? Let's walk.
Your hands start this swaying motion and all I can think of is how glad I am no one can see us. See me. My hands. Clasping. Yours.
It's getting darker and I can barely hear your face now. Yes I can't hear it. Too many voices, each declaring how you should look like.
It's so loud I can't tell them apart. I can't tell you apart from... Wait, who were you, again?
Wait, was I always alone. I could swear I..

Such ..is the endless corridor journey of the mind, gradually engulfing you from the inside.