I know not my heart. Like a lone flower in the wild, it frosts and blooms and withers. Battered by the shadows of emotions, I can’t grasp any anchor.
Birth; aging; sickness; death; betrayal and revenge; wants unfulfilled; love torn asunder.
I have not walked through the 7 trials mortals endure. I have not fallen so deeply, been separated across millennia of time, nor scattered into ashes.
I have not lived through even half of one lifespan. My mere inexperiences can’t claim these sufferings.
But why am I adrift in a silence so vast? Frayed and brittle, I am unendingly lost to blind heartache.
I miss; I anguish; I mourn. Mountains and oceans move beneath, yet I know not even its name.
Foreign memories settle in my bones – as if my mind forgets, but my heart remembers. If only a specter, just what should I do to find it?
Would it hurt more irrefutably, show me less an imposter, to have lived through these trials? If so, I would dive in headfirst.
In these lonely bright nights, time ticks past inexorably. Is there a path ahead?
So I drink. And I wait.
