I: Life gives no resting days

My own soul came as it went, not a single thing to be held by, not a reason to still linger on the past or wait for a greater future. It certainly lived in the present, because it was the only thing I could do. No, maybe it was the only thing I've learned to do.

Around me, the world seemed to have a clear schedule. People earned money, kids studied, the elderly rested, the unemployed found jobs, and the workers kept on working until their bones couldn't hold out anymore. History never moved from its cycle of human tragedies and salvations. Science was always right. Literature never once became entertaining upon anyone else except those of intellectuals. The years had a leap of one day every four cycles; the months were the same, days at 24 hours and minutes at 60 seconds clear.

As I lay upon an uninhabited altar, in a desolate yet terrifying temple with only the moon to shine my face, I see, and I acknowledge just how much I have taken for granted. I seemed to have lived in the most boring two decades with the most boring of days.

I can't help but laugh as I process the world around me. If I had always wanted to live something far greater than I could have done, then my joy would be obvious with every step I take. So soon, and suddenly I scream, wailing, mourning my family and friends, despite having no memories of where I've ever shown how much I loved them.