She sits right next to him. He sits in silence and he doesn't know anything. If he knew, he would act differently.
His thoughts are posing an unsolvable problem. Deep inside, he wants to say something that would make sense at that moment, but his words are those without a sound. He starts feeling uncomfortable, like he is in a bed of nails, and every move he makes makes the nails go deeper into his skin. His whole life and his entire belief system are shattered like glass, and now he doubts himself. He doesn't know right from wrong, he only knows what he wants at that moment. Ultimately, the only thing he will do is continue to just sit there and fight his own thoughts. His shadow is hanging over him. It whispers thoughts he wants to forget, not because he is disgusted, but because they make him happy. This happiness is soon to be destroyed by harsh reality, like all things in life. Will he continue to be a shell of a man, or will he be born again, a man rising from the lake of fire, ready to embrace a life he doesn't fully understand? Will he continue living a life full of lies, or will the truth finally set him free? He is afraid of it. All of it.
His feeble mind tries to remind him of everything he is, but he can't help but wonder what he might be. I wish I could help him. After all, his mind is my own. But he never listens. He would choose suffering over joy; he would bury himself deeper instead of trying to break through the wall. He would rather scratch his skin off instead of try to embrace change.
And still, she sits right next to him.