Who am I to you? Someone new, someone old, someone ancient, someone young, someone grown, someone growing, someone found in the lost.
What am I to you? A book that bears reading, but which resides at the home of a friend I rarely visit. A boat on the same river that often drifts near for a time, but does not run alongside. a light that though bright is far away and lost in the distance, its color seen but the detail washed out.
Why do(n't) I matter to you? Everyone matters to me. The spark of the soul in the shell of the flesh, the flesh consumed and the soul extinguished, the flesh reborn and the soul relit.
Why am I here? Near as I can tell, a series of choices in life and the misplaced randomness of encounters between individuals. That and because Tofu would be lonely if there was no on in this world that liked it.
Where am I? Some where near the middle, approaching it with fear and doubt, uncertaintity and uneasiness. Lost behind pages that used to be a map, scribbling furiously to repair the now broken bridges and notate the now dead end routes. Still seeking the road that leads to the end, but trying desperately to remmber which road led from the begining.
Someone new, someone old, someone ancient, someone young, someone grown, someone growing, someone found in the lost.
What am I to you?
A book that bears reading, but which resides at the home of a friend I rarely visit. A boat on the same river that often drifts near for a time, but does not run alongside. a light that though bright is far away and lost in the distance, its color seen but the detail washed out.
Why do(n't) I matter to you?
Everyone matters to me. The spark of the soul in the shell of the flesh, the flesh consumed and the soul extinguished, the flesh reborn and the soul relit.
Why am I here?
Near as I can tell, a series of choices in life and the misplaced randomness of encounters between individuals. That and because Tofu would be lonely if there was no on in this world that liked it.
Where am I?
Some where near the middle, approaching it with fear and doubt, uncertaintity and uneasiness. Lost behind pages that used to be a map, scribbling furiously to repair the now broken bridges and notate the now dead end routes. Still seeking the road that leads to the end, but trying desperately to remmber which road led from the begining.
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