Dear Esther is linear. It speaks like a 19th century novel. It is full of pain and loss.

As the narrator say, “the infection is not simply of the flesh.”

The island stands alone–“the revolution and the permanence” of a play space where that I go to over and over again. I hear the narrator speak the words. I feel the deep, deep sorrow that accompanies a loss.

There is a gulf.

I move so slowly.