Datastream

Solitude becomes me... But is it fitting of my kind and kin?
Dare I vanquish it? Or am I too accustomed to reveling in its silent comforts...

There is only so much silence a man can take until he goes mad.

Silence without end, darkness without close. An eternal pause in the rhythm of Time, so akin to staring at one's mirror-bound reflection; caked in layers of settled dust. How memorable are these moments spent alone when weighed against unforgotten days when there we many such facets to your existence?

As comforting as solitude might have been during times of turmoil, I believe I'm becoming too used to its deathly silence.

Oh, how I long for an escape from such gravitic ties... If only I could sail upon the winds of Fate for all eternity. Would I be at peace? Perhaps not... But stagnation is not peace, all the same.

To sit aimlessly in one place is not progress, it is not growth. It is stagnancy, introvert degeneration, an selfish waste of effort, energy, and time.

We owe ourselves a better existence than to remain in one place for all eternity. It is our right and our destiny that we may seek something just beyond our grasp to hold so tightly... Be it a poem, song, or memory.

And though I dare not speak of it, I thirst for one with which to share the poetry of my soul, that we may revel in each other's imperfection. For what is life but a constant, unforgiving experience, each fleeting moment slipping between our fingertips faster than we may grasp at them?

No longer do I hunger for the meaning of life and my existence, nor an answer to long-forgotten questions held since severed childhood. I am without regret, waiting only for the passage of time to bring yet another moment of selfless beauty into my waiting arms.

What purpose have we but to propagate our species and our memories? At our most base level of being, we have no reason to worry of impressions or opinions, nor carnal needs. There is but tomorrow and yesterday, and the beauty in Life's endless journey of generations scattered across time.

We are but memories and dreams, a cognitive spiral-sequence ingrained into our very being.

If we were so blessed as to witness but a glimpse of distant past and single spark of unknown future, they would impart upon us the same vital knowledge bestowed upon you the moment consciousness took hold within mother's womb.

Beauty lies not in what we seek, but a journey that begets simple memory. From the moment our tiny hearts begin beating, so close and so full of our mother's love, we seek no purpose. No greater truth within us, beyond mother's caring touch and father's honest smile. Cascading emotions cast upon a face untouched by sorrow... Were you given the chance to return such innocence to your world, would you relinquish every memory, every aspect of your journey? Or would you acknowledge the special circumstances of your life, so unique in its untold story, and give thanks for all you've been given?

We are born without purpose so that we may live within the moment, eager hands etching their own form of beauty into Time's endless tome. I wish only that I may be given the chance to look over my life when my final breath draws near; that I may look upon the content of my story with pride, dignity, and accomplishment. I wish only that I may look back from distant times when all has changed once more, and be comforted with the knowledge that I gave a moment of beauty and happiness to others whenever given the chance.

Though I am imperfect, I am thankful for all that I am.

May each of us glimpse yesterday and tomorrow, history and possibility, a profound knowing of all that was and what shall be...

...That we may look back into the stream of memories that shall follow in our wake, and smile; beautiful innocence lacking in purpose - just as perfect as the moment of our birth.