Read this at your own risk. I wrote it while in a dark place. I may upload more if I write more, but for now this is what I have. Originally written on Feb. 11, 2019.

Why are we here? What is our purpose in this cold, cruel world? Life... such a warm gentle thing... Life... such a ruthless painful experience. What is it that we search for? What is it we seek? Why do we exist, and what is our goal? Destiny... fate... God... such shallow flimsy excuses.

Death... cold, unyielding, and precise. Death... salvation, comfort, and relief. What is it that we fear? Why do we choose to fear the inevitable, and cripple ourselves in doing so? Is it not fear that should drive us forward? Should we not fear that which we can understand and use that fear to guide us instead of control us?

Ah... but I digress... This was never meant to become a story. In fact, I expect no one will ever read this, for this is merely meant to be a reflection of my own inner thoughts, emotions, and shortcomings.

This world that we live in... that we dwell upon, is so strange and surreal. This plane of existence we find ourselves in makes me wonder. Is there more? What is it that separates dreams from reality? Fact from Fiction? Thought from substance? What constitutes as thought, and what constitutes as emotion? For while we dwell upon both, do we not see what has become of us?

We are shells. We are shells filled to the brim with thoughts and emotions, but what about soul? What is it that defines us? For beyond all thought and all feelings, what are we? What are we to become when our shell is removed?

Do we drift away? Become something without shape or thought? Perhaps we still remain glued together by some unknown force of being. Perhaps we simply stop being.

What are the ties that bond and connect us all? These invisible strings that draw people together... how are they formed? Are they something that we have forged through trials and hardships in a previous life? Are they made of forgotten promises of the past? Or are they just drawing together people of similar wavelengths, that they may find a kindred spirit?

And for that matter, what is spirit? Spirit and Soul are two separate entities, but how? Why? Is soul what dwells within us to create us as individuals, and spirit the strength of will that ignites our spark of life? Or is spirit something that we create for ourselves after birth? Is soul what we are born with and spirit what we make ourselves into?

For who truly knows all the answers to these questions, which are not meant to be answered or understood... These questions which... perhaps, if the answers were understood, could unravel the very fabric of the universe of reality as we think it?

For we truly do not know what we think we know, there is only what is simply universally understood as fact.

Such strangeness comes from within. These thoughts and emotions of which I can neither see nor touch. By all logic, they do not exist, but again... logic is but an understood factor, not a fact. So perhaps, I, too, do exist elsewhere. My consciousness existing only faintly on this plane while my true self slumbers worlds away...

Does this, in turn, mean that all people are merely wisps of thoughts and emotions whose true souls or spirits dwell elsewhere? Is it, then, these other selves that we have left behind temporarily that provide the connection for these strings of which we cannot see or truly comprehend?

Then why is it that we are here? What has driven our selves into these lives? Was it by choice? Force? Chance? What is it that we are meant to achieve? Are we meant to influence others that we may better them on whatever path they choose? Are we to do whatever we wish, regardless of morals? Perhaps we are simply meant to learn, and think, and reflect upon what we believe we have discovered?

These questions of the heart and of the mind are truly boggling, for there are many things that I do not understand, just as there are many things which I do not wish to understand, and which I am not meant to understand.

For to understand the workings of the energies surrounding us, would be to become part of them, and to learn to manipulate those strings would be to become a god, which is a lonely and miserable existence, I am sure.

For if there truly is a god, then he must be a very sorry soul, who is alone and misunderstood and unable to lean upon others.

The silence of the world astounds me at times. For all the sound and noise that this world creates, the absolute emptiness of a crowded street always saddens me. I feel apart from the people I see. As if I am not one of them. As if I am not meant to be one of them. Perhaps this is why I write stories, to be part of something. But I do not feel like I am meant to be here. I feel as if I was a mistake. An error. Perhaps I was meant to go elsewhere, or be born elsewhen, but what's done is done.

And I will never know the answer. I fear it, for I fear rejection above all else. I fear being alone, so I make myself alone. For if I create my fears myself, then surely I can control them? Perchance, then, I can dream. I can dream and be the way I am meant to be within the confines of my mind, and forever exist in a realm of infinite possibilities.

Ah, but do we not already exist in such a realm? For this world of many beauties is limited only by the potential of the mind which comprehends it. I fear, in this sense, that my mind is severely lacking, for I look around myself and see nothing but walls and pits.

I am trapped. I am confined. And I am limited by my own mind.

What am I? What are we? Who are we to question these things? What defines an individual as an individual? Do we earn ourselves, or do we simply make it up? The question of 'who am I' is old, and is often understood to mean someone is missing important memories that should be there. However, perhaps the question could be better phrased as 'who am I supposed to be'. For this becomes a much more difficult question to answer, and goes beyond a simple name. This dwells deeper within our being, to a place that most people seem to find, while I feel lost, scared, and alone.

I know not who I am, nor what I am meant to do. I am content, to a certain extent, to find this out at my own pace. But others would have me believe that I should already know these answers, and push me to figure them out. Are these not personal and private questions? Why should my knowing their answers or not impact their lives?

The connections of people and the way those connections influence our lives boggles me. For such a connection to exist means stability, on some level, be it mental or physical. But why do we crave such acceptance? Why do we feel the need to share these burdens with people who already have burdens of their own?

Perhaps it is the eternal state of the mind of man... nay, of all peoples to think themselves into a slump. That they might have the ghost of a chance to attempt to grasp or comprehend that which makes us. That which defines us. That which we think may be or may not be... For whether it was in the beginning, it stands to reason now, that it is the eternal state of the mind of mankind to question everything.

For what would man be if he did not question all that surrounds him? Where would society stand if man had not questioned his place upon this earth, and how he could improve it? Everything started with the question of, not why, but how.

For one could sit and question why for all one's life, and only grasp at concepts. Why rarely has a concrete answer. But how usually has a response that can be understood, within the confines of our minds and our universally accepted laws and rules.

The mind, body, spirit, and soul are all said to be unique. But perchance... could music be a manifestation of ones spirit? For when one creates such beautiful and unique sound... the harmony that comes from many spirits joining together in the most unique and universally understood form of creation, that transcends words, race, language, and gender. That transcends all that we think we know.

Music is the art that can reach the blind. That takes people to places that they otherwise could not travel to, and reach places of spirit, soul, and mind that would otherwise be out of reach. For me, music takes me many places. I am safe. I am loved. I am warm, and surrounded by a beautiful harmonious symphony that encompasses me so fully and completely that I forget who I am, who I was, and I simply am. I can simply be. For with music, nothing in the moment matters but that which caresses my ear so lovingly.

Yes... I would not want to live if I could not hear such beautiful music. For music is one of those things that makes this dark, sunlight-dappled world bearable through the long period of shadows.

For is that not what the world is? A terrifying shadow-covered plain that we must learn to manipulate and navigate. The occasional streams of sunlight can reach down into the valleys and canyons of which we travel, and at times we find ourselves cresting a hill or mountain top, and in that brief moment, all becomes clear. And all is understood. All is realized and life is beautiful. But not all of us are so lucky to have a path set before us that can show us that beauty. Many of us are set upon paths of shadows and gnarled roots, that we may trip into the dried up rosebushes and prick out our eyes with thorns, that we may never see such beauty.

But do not lose faith. For if this is our path, then know that we can change it. It is hard, to step off the path before us. I, myself, am guilty of simply veering off to what I perceive an easier path. But the world is around us. Pick a direction and go.

Then why has it become so hard? Was it not our ancestors that oft traveled to far and distant lands across uncharted seas and territories on the scarce chance of freedom? And now, what? Our freedom has been—not taken—but surrendered for the chance of a quiet life. Is that what we truly want? Is freedom not the most basic want of all humanity?

Freedom... the wings upon which I dream of soaring. Why do I hesitate in spreading them? Why is it, that I can feel these wings upon my back, yet cannot see them? Am I afraid to fly because I fear the fall? Or am I more afraid that my wings will turn to dust in the wind? That they were never there to begin with, and I have deluded myself into ever believing I could fly?

I fear so many things. But perhaps, above all else, I fear the rejection of my very dreams. I fear that I will never fly. My wings will never come, and I will forever be chained to the earth that has become far too firm beneath my feet.

That perhaps a life without these wings is akin to a life without music, and I do not have a place in this life. But I think of the hill I crested so long ago...

The brightest stars are said to shine most brilliantly in the darkest of nights. But to shine brighter is to burn hotter. Is that why I hurt? Why I feel numb within? Perhaps I have burned so hotly for others that I have grown numb to mine own heat? Then should I not be able to push myself further and harder?

Ah... but just because one is numb to the pain does not make ones injuries any less severe. Just because one does not feel a broken arm does not make that arm any less broken or useless. Then am I broken? If I were to answer yes, then would that be by society's standards, or mine own?

To run... To run far away and never look back is cowardice. To leave behind all ones problems and forget them is to deny the opportunity to grow and learn, for life's cruel lesson cannot be outrun, only delayed. And interest will stack up.

Stationary pieces in a machine are useless. They are a hindrance and should be removed, for they negatively impact the productivity of the entire mechanism. Why, then, do we try so hard to help the stationary and broken cogs around us? Is it the nature of mankind to be kind or be ruthless? Is it that we find ourselves unable to leave behind these 'broken people' because we see the potential within them? We fix these broken cogs that they may work once more, but is it against their will? What of those who do not wish to be fixed? Those who want to remain broken...

What kindness is this when forced? Is it within our rights to help those who wish to drown? By taking that choice away from them, are we taking away what little freedom that they have managed to find?

Society does not allow people to die by their own hand. Yet they will allow them... applaud them, even, to march off to war and battle to their own deaths by the hand of another. What is it that drives society as such?

It is the nature of man to dream. Just as it is in the nature of man to do. It is the nature of mankind to create, and destroy; to heal and to kill; to laugh and to curse. To dance. To cripple. To share. To secret. Mankind is such a complex creature that can never be fully understood, for to understand man in his entirety would be to understand all people, on an individual level. And one can spend one's entire life trying to understand oneself to no avail.

We are people. We change. We live. We die. We are all unique. We will always be different from one another. And that is okay, because we are not meant to understand what we are, or what makes us different. Because we can waste away our lives trying to understand or trying to make others understand, or we can spend this time we have been given (or perhaps had forced upon us) simply stumbling through life. We can learn, laugh, cry, and fight. Sing, dance and drink. Let us all live.