Months have passed since we met. Months and months. The days have been busy, and the nights... each strange in their own way.
I recognize my face in a way no man should. Many a night I have lain awake on my back, looking down at myself from above the bedrolls, looking up in return at the place where I am not and yet am. I feel his breath in my ear even as I look upon his body, lying next to another body, beneath sheets that twist between the two halves of me.
My headaches have only grown more frequent, as have the dangers of our task, and at times I stand invisibly over myself, thinking over the limitation I have been given. From outside, it appears as only a shell, tying me to things I do not wish to recall. When I am here, there is no pain but that which still comes from the body and the memories of the body, and if only I could be free of such pains, I could be this forever - silent, observing, knowing. If I could touch the throat that pulses faintly under my gaze, I might crush it, but I cannot.
But then, some nights he wakes, and I am given reason to honor this cursed tie to my flesh.