Now is the time to re-examine everything: the universe, our asphyxiating rituals of daily routine, the emptiness hidden deep inside our aging bodies. Death does not frighten us; life often does.

It was never meant to be easy, they say, human existence has always been riddled with hidden traps and formidable obstacles and gaping uncertainties. They refuse to explain why, or perhaps the answer eludes them.

Some of us would sacrifice all that we hold dear just for a few shining fragments of meaning. I must understand, I cannot go on without that knowledge, I cannot survive without a sense of purpose, you scream, but all they do is  stare blankly as you tear yourself to pieces.

I'd cry, but there's no worth left in bouts of self-pity. I'd vow to destroy your world by challenging all that holds it together, if only  I believed it would extinguish the fire in my head. I'd take a journey inside my soul's darkest passages, yet I'm still afraid of what I might find there.

I'd like to spend my nights awake, reading poetry. Instead, I waste them weaving obsessive thougths, chasing chimairas and reluctant people. When they dare speak to me of love and devotion, I run away terrified.

The wounds have not yet healed. The past is lingering, like it always does. I miss even the illusion of certainty, the fragile clarity of desire. Deep inside, don't we all long for effortless communication, are we not all eager to share our fear and hope and existential sorrow?

The sad truth is we can never let go of our inhibitions unless we are granted the fantasy of immortality. Don't you ever wonder why?

Last night I dreamt of you. It was something in between a dream and a nightmare. Love ran away on a misty autumn morning. Hope fell asleep under the winter's first snow.

Hearts break, then are mended so they can break again. Lives end and begin anew. Minds get lost in a paranoid haze. Where does this path lead, and will we ever know what we're living for?

One death just leads to another. Or so they say.