Every day when I rise from bed, I see the world continues to live. But when later I fall to sleep, I lie in disbelief that I might wake again. Experiences and emotions further captivate me: ephemeral, perhaps haven been given something to live for. I have too many mortal problems to be caught by existentialism any longer. Yet here I am, feet positioned at the edge of the Earth, a vision of sky and ocean and stars and raindrops, echoing their holy song, the dead Gods, calling out.
A new year dawns and I find myself to be much happier than when the clock struck midnight exactly three hundred and sixty five days before— how clandestine this emotion, tugging at the margins of my psyche. Then how depressing, that all may not be so well. Oh, I do despise the subjugation, the interpretation, insinuation— their power to turn the divine into mortals. But when I fall asleep tonight, I hope to dream of small fish swimming through the cosmos, immortalized by their own devotion.
Never stop fighting.