Our experiences do not define us, yet we are nothing more than our past and our future. Compelled to make new mistakes and relive old ones.
To be content is to be unhappy. To idle is to die young. We desire change. Our instinct is to wander. I grow restless.
Time slips away as moments become shorter. Darkness deafens the fragile senses. The Silence is blinding.
Who knocks? Is it death? …Is it reality?