This is the first time I have publicly posted anything that I have written. I know that it is not what you would normally see. Any feedback/suggestions are welcome as I would like to become better. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Stormchaser


That was really good. It has been some time since I last heard from you. I hope that everything is going well and that you are in good health. I have been in one of those moods today. Where everything kind of seems surreal. Kind of like I am an observer who is there in the middle of the action but not really a part of it.

It is weird.

I feel like writing, stories, filled with hope and dreams and glimpses of worlds never before seen. Then the mood passes and I feel that door to the world I have seen, slowly close and seal itself, never to be opened again. Footsteps echoing hauntingly down a deserted stone hallway. Reverberating and bouncing from wall to wall down to the depths of myself, to that small scared, never shown self. Filling me with unknown longing and wonder.

Sometimes, when I am walking outside I will simply stare at the world around me. It is funny how we can live our whole life without ever really living. To simply exist. I sometimes wonder if I am truly meant to be something in this world. I always seem to look at things so much differently than everyone else. I smile when others are silent, I laugh when no one is around...I am different.

When I am all alone I feel as though I am mere inches from some great truth that I am supposed to find and understand, but can never reach. As though the path I am following is of my own making and yet, not at all, at the same time. I wish I knew what to do.

The human mind is indeed the most amazing and powerful of computers. Transient and temporary though it is. It is very powerful. The most unnerving of questions that this computer can pose is "why?" Why do we do what we do? Will anything but our own advancement come of it? We go from one mundane task to another yet never really accomplish anything of importance.

I do realize that importance is merely a matter of perspective. Walking along the sidewalk ignorant to all that surrounds us, seems not important at all, yet to the ants upon which we trod, it is a matter of life and death. When is it, that we will become the ants? What will we do when it does come? Yes, indeed the human mind is a powerful computer, but to what ends? To what ends? Greater gifts have never been given than those conceived in the mind, nor greater crimes. Slowly, we bob, just barely above the surface, adrift in a fathomless sea of doubt and self-pity. Awash in our own ignorance, we choose not to see the truth and to learn from what has happened, instead we lower our eyes and blunder through life committing the same mistakes our father's and their father's fathers made. Will it never end? Will we never understand?

The most powerful thing in the world is indeed love, nothing has ever made more good or caused more grief than love. All things can be justified in love, and yet through its pale blanket, nothing is seen at all. Truth can be turned to lies and lies to truth, the beautiful made ugly and the blind to see. Yet, all is lost until we love. But what do we gain? Love, this inescapable force that surrounds and permeates our very being, what is it? Is it a product of our desire to mold the world around us so that we appear more than we really are?

Love, an ethereal thing that is as beautiful as a shimmering rainbow reflected in the awed eyes of a child, as cruel as the cold bite of steel in flesh. Must we always pass through trial and tribulation before we experience it, must there always be a moment of truth before it surrounds us? So full of questions, unanswered merely because they remain unasked...it is said in ancient journals and books of scribes much better than I, that the brave die only once, but a coward dies many deaths. Is it worse to see one's dreams dashed against the cold stone reef of reality or to never have dreamt at all? Still more questions.

The footsteps slowly echo into nothingness and all is as it was. Quiet as a pond, undisturbed as the morning dew. Slowly I drag myself back to the surface. Pulling the threads of reality back around my heart, building once more the walls that will forever make me different. That set me apart. But is it truly so bad to be different, I think to myself as I become more of myself and at the same time less than I was. For in its own way isn't everything different? I allow my facade to crack into a quirky grin...will these questions never end? I ask myself once again...

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