The dates he wrote on the clear pages of his notebook meant nothing. He wasn’t sure what day it was, but it felt good to write something down; it gave him a point of reference, tho a moving one.

How had he arrived here? He knew the answer; it was self-imposed, but he still searched for any answer that made sense, any answer that allowed him to escape. He was voluntarily lured to this place. It seemed impossible to imagine now, but it was still true. He sought meaning, and meaning trapped him here.

Meaning, such an elusive goal, and an enticing one. One for which we sacrifice ourselves seeking.

He carried his chains into the workroom and proceeded to smile as he prepared to maintain the value of that meaning.