Sometimes I feel as if my soul is a whisper carried along the breezes of fate, with no will of its own, drifting endlessly. There is something insubstantial about my being, I think. In my madness, there were times when I believed that I was hollowed out, that there was little of me left that existed at all. That there was truly a "me" behind these eyes. Sometimes I looked in my eyes, back when, and spied that there was something missing, that I was merely a shadow of the person I had once been. That there was darkness where once there had been light.
There are rare moments, though — they come and pass, nowadays — that there is a note to which my soul resounds, and I am in tune with all the world. Like there is nothing I can't do. Not like in my madness, when I had delusions of superpowers beyond mankind's reckoning, but just that I have hope that I can do something real and true, something of substance. Like there is hope for me beyond the inkling that somehow things will be all right in the end. It is of now I speak, not a distant glint. And these moments — they are enough that I know that I am, and that I can: that I'll make it.
Kyle
2:18am thursday, 9th january
Life is chaos stand, which is not entirely true. Chaos would allow random events to happen, but we are in control to some extent as to what happens in our lives, we always have choice, but; chaos does govern our lifes in the biggest way....so your sould being something drifting across the breezes of fate, is truer than some believe...did any of this make sense?
Kyle