And yet I am

but as it were you weren’t. weren’t listening. so I might speak freely and without concern that someone weaker someone less able would hear me. I might cry but merely upon deaf ears. Assured that anyone that might hear me might first feel uncomfortable and second feel my words the echoing of dramatic prose. unnecessary and superflous. The gilding of emotions most everyone in every realm has felt. And perhaps that is true. Perhaps there is no new creation here but what has already come to be in another time. And if that is true, I wish that it would be acknowledged that these truths exist and that they will not be extinguished, I wish that they might fall as rain perhaps but be soaked into a fresh earth and be the bearing of new fruit. That they will come and be and become and that they will forever more be. 

and if you (who?) were even listening I would tell you it is not ever worth it. There is nothing that could fulfill you or complete you enough. You will never be satisfied but by your own satisfaction. You may chase their dreams, you may run through the fields of their own fantasies but when the sun sets your hands will grasp nothing but echoes. Nothing but the remnants of their imaginings and the scraps left for you to wallow in. If it would suffice I wish you false happiness…but no pretense of that reality. You cannot have it. Will not have it. Shall not have it. Long for it evermore but it will remain out of reach because no just deity would allow such a mortal to have what they will. You may fathom a ghost of this or a shadow of that but never enough to quench your thirst because you have been marked as one never immortal and will suffer as such. Thus is your penance