Reality.

What is it? What is it that makes us breath, feel, speak and listen? What is it that drives our most deepest passions and fears? Why do we keep running away from it, why do we crave it this badly? Why does it strike us so swiftly? Makes me wonder whether I can even sense it. Reality. Such tangible a word with such intangible meaning. Then again, maybe intangible is a word that better describes my poor reasoning. Is it too strange to look into the past and just be able to mumble a heartless "...what?"? Is it much too helpless to look into the future and confusedly ask the same "...what???"? Maybe there are no such things. Past, future, present... Reality, for that matter.

Is there meaning in mourning your own demise? Is there logic in fighting your own fate? Last time I checked, I didn't care.

Reality. When is it? Could it be what we leave behind? The shadows, the trails of our victories and mistakes? Those images that keep looping inside our heads, printed in our memory? Tell me, Master, is THIS reality? This image, this impression inside my mind right now? Probably not, I know. But again, I know I was blind that night. Can I see clearer when I am blind, stripped of my second sight? Yes, but no. No, I am probably just hallucinating right now.

Reality.

I am fine. Just a little overwhelmed.