All with a wooden heart.

It's night and I'm alone. The cats are there in the background but they're somewhat fuzzy. I feel slightly detached, even from these keys as my fingers strike.

Looking out across space at my screen and at my desk, along with the books and trinkets it holds - I'm simply not there. I see them, but they're not really real, because I'm not 'real'.

I'm in another place, another room within this room, outside this room, somewhere. A place in the fogs of my mind or soul, hidden away in the back alleys of its daily routine. Hidden in this place I'm safe from the world outside; no sudden feelings or disturbing thoughts will bother me here. There are no feelings, and thoughts like everything else inch along at a snails pace. 

But as with all 'greener pastures' this place has its own traps and dangers. As I sit on this cold floor, in this empty room, in this deserted part of town, I can see clearly into the future and into the past, with the cold unfeeling that this place commands. Not that cold unfeeling is necessarily a bad thing.

Here and in the world at large, there is no good or bad. Is there?

Regardless; I can see clearly into the world of my laptop and desk, into the years to come. I see the complete lack of relationships or society. I see a void in the heart of me that grows by the day. I see a lack of 'life'. For in these existences of no definitions I've made one for life - my life, is my love. It's a choice, apparently random and open to change, but It's my choice.

I step outside into the cold, and trace my way to the laptop, and to the desk, and the cats.

I don't know how I came back to this place, but it seems I'm gaining control of my non-emotions, as much as my emotions.

Or is there such thing as 'non-emotion'?