(no subject)

There is no journey without risk --

there is no way to tell the passing of days, of weeks, of months. each cycle moves just the same as the next, an endless loop of time, brought on by the quiet hum of progress. blood does not flow, his heart does not beat, eyes do not see.

the suns rise and fall in time with the movement of the universe; the birth of a galaxy, the death of a star.

near hoth, asteroids collide with violent force, scattering projectiles through the empty darkness. steam rises from hot dagobah swamps. transports move about corsucant in neat rows, people, goods, money, all moving, all making their way towards something.

there is no way to know how long he's locked away, eyes dark to the change of the seasons on corellia, hands numb, toes and legs still, his chest doesn't move, his body sleeps.

and sleeps.

and sleeps.

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