Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or any of its characters. I do not profit from this writing.

The problem is—

The problem is that I was happy, and then I was happy, and then I—

I?

The problem is pronouns. No. The problem is language the problem is you (you—what is you—what is the etymological history of you—what does it mean to be you—how is you different from I and what is I and what is we and they and she and he) the problem is that there is nothing to hold onto because everything leads to something else

(everything is something else, everything is everything else)

Major.

A word. A flash, a picture. Constable, another word, connected. Build on from that, up from that. Red hair, sensation of callused hands, whatsaprettygirllikeyou—

Link. LINK. Ah. Yes.

No!

A bead on a string, and there are so many strings, things I remember and remember remembering and things I have forgotten remembering and things that must be remembered and things to remember that are not mine (mine?)

(I? What is I?)

(Hush, it's warm here. The Link. Yes, the Link. Link and sink and link and link and there is nothing but the link-)

The problem is a brain. To become a thing is to know a thing. To become a thing for too long is to forget what it is not to be that thing. But it is still possible to learn, to learn to not be that thing, but first the thing must learn to bend and let go of all the things it thought when it had a solid thing brain (it doesn't anymore). It is going to break if it doesn't forget the things it thought when it had a solid thing brain (words like 'me' and 'I' and 'freedom' and 'myself' and 'individuality' and 'alone' and 'lonely'—and they are ugly words, doesn't the thing want to forget the ugly words?)

Odo'ital.

(But I remember stars and I remember I—what is I—what is I and how is I not you and we and they—I made of memories—what are memories-memories are—memories are a word that begins with m, yes, there was a Federation Standard Dictionary on the table)

(there was a badge and it was mine and that was—that was—important, somehow…)

A badge is a shape. Shapes can be taken, and then discarded. Why hold on to a shape?

Is what is happening now a memory? (What is now?) Here with—not 'us' (even 'us' is wrong, is not enough, it's the language, how to tell, how to say, how to hold on to—what do I need to…I?) Link. Link. Link. Memories are memories are memories (but I have to hold on to) we are we are (but I have to hold) there is nothing but this moment and this wholeness we are whole we are I and I are we there is no difference there is no you there is we, and we is I, and I is we

Yes, we are one and one are many. In the Link. And it's so beautiful, if beautiful were a beautiful enough word, because words are never enough. But it's alright that they're never enough, because they don't matter in the Link. In the Link there are no words, no ugly hurtful words that get slapped on you like a label to cut you off from everyone else, no bad disgusting empty names.

(What is a name? There was a name. Names. In the memories. )

There are no names in the Link.

No! Don't take them! Don't! They're—

Don't take my name!

Mine? Silly. Not mine. Mine is just a word and it looks solid but it's not real. Me mine I, silly solid words.

Nothing. That's important. Not the concept but the word, or the word behind the concept. Words are broken. They can't tell what the Link tells. They can't make things whole, yes, things are whole and right and real and home and who cares if things are slipping sliding gliding away, if—

(Yes, who cares? Did I care? Did you care? Did he/she/it/nothing/them/they/us/we care? Who are the pronouns and what are pronouns and what are words why is this part still clinging to words why won't this part stop clinging to words this is a good part must not hurt it—no, bad part, BAD, get rid of it, dissolve it, make it stop, the words are solid and cutting and make it stop don't think anymore of words or memories-)

(Or the way Nery's hair felt against my palm-)

What?

(there was something…)

Gone. Another one gone (am I falling?) another thing slipping away (Prophets, I'm melting dissolving—I don't believe in the Prophets—who are the prophets—who am i—what is an 'i?'—i don't remember—what is an 'i?'—something this part used to be) like a thousand tiny teeth tearing me apart (who's me? who's me? who's me?) being shredded every piece is being carried in all directions, all directions, all directions losing never come back…

(don't remember—can't—oh no, oh no no no I'm late, I'm so late, I wanted to go back—)

grasping begging hands (i had hands once, i made hands) clawing out for a hold because need to hold onto the words the memories the things need to go home (am home—whats home—a word) and tell the man with funny ears (i had ears, i heard things, i liked hearing things but i can't remember what it was like what it meant to hear) that the constable's back (who was the constable? was the constable important? did the solids like him?) so he better watch out—

but it's all sand through the fingers—no, no fingers in the link—nothing solid—nothing (odo'ital)—can't hold on to…

where did the good feeling go—there were good feelings good linking sinking forgetting feelings why is the forgetting something to fight now and why if remembering is important is it important to not remember all the other things

(because the other things aren't mine, they belong to everyone else in the—what is belong—did I belong—did I)

The problem is—

there is no problem there is the LINK and the LINK is everything and everything is the LINK and the words will go away and the memories will just be memories like all the others shared within the LINK where no one is alone because alone is not a word in the LINK no words here in the LINK no words no loneliness no

(NO MY NAME IS ODO, AND NERYS CALLED ME CONSTABLE AND I HATED IT AND THEN I PRETENDED TO HATE IT AND THEN I LOVED IT AND I LOVED HER I LOVE HER AND MY HOME IS A BROKEN DOWN SPACE STATION NAMED DEEP SPACE NINE AND I LIKE TO COOK OMELETS AND NERYS KISSED ME ON THE PROMENADE AND JAKE SISKO WANTS TO BE A WRITER AND I SHARED CURZON'S MEMORIES AND QUARK MADE FUN OF ME FOR READING ROMANCE NOVELS AND THEY GAVE ME A ROOM FOR THE FIRST TIME I WILL REMEMBER I AM ODO I AM ODO I AM IAMIAM—)

Don't take my—

(IAM)

What was—

There was—something, I was—

Something to hold onto I was…

(What is I? I is—I is—I is not important. I is just a word.)

Just a word.

There are no words in the Link.

D—

There is just the Link.

It is happy here.