Yesterday, I lost the last of my senses.
It didn't come on suddenly. But had been creeping on for quite a while. I'd dismissed it to a remote corner of my mind, secretly dreading it.
It started with my taste. I couldn't distinguish them. Eventually, everything was tasteless.
Then I lost my sense of smell. I wouldn't recognize even stench.
Then my eyesight gradually dwindled. So I relied more on touch and hearing, as any other blind man would.
As my hearing became more remote, I kept thinking that it would come back, because I could still feel my heartbeat.
But yesterday, yesterday I lost my touch.
Now I am in complete sensory deprivation. Is this bliss?
How do I know I'm alive?
I don't.
Yesterday, a part or the whole of me died. I can't tell the difference anymore.
Yesterday, as I lost the last of my senses, something definitely snapped deep inside me.
Perhaps it was you?
Montreal, February 22, 1986
