Ramblings of an adolescent clawing his way through life, pinning bits and pieces of it on that softwood board in the hallway and parading shiny medals that he's proud of.
Life's a bunch poor players on stage, no? So, what am I but a jester in a court of fools? Struggling to get by in an ethereal world where none is absolute save thy own existence.
Each fool leads his or her own story, uniquely expressing it in his or her own way: the essence of a soul.
In due time he or she will realize that it was naught but a role of the humble jester in a Grand King's court, but does not realize that his or herself was nothing but a puppet on a string.
Some choose to cut those strings and lie, crumpled and defeated. The rest, struggle on, futile as it may be, but it is the struggle that counts.
Such is the fate of man. As each story unfolds, and stretches far into boundless horizons, intertwines with and touches that of countless others, he shall brave the battlefield.
Only bruised, tattered and torn, shall he see the light. However, he shall soon realize that he cannot grasp the light, as it is intangible and thus, spirals into endless sorrow.
Now, the question is, tangible or not, does the fact that light does exist change? The answer to that, my friend, lies within you.
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