Shards and bricks and pieces of things that I used to know float round me still.
They prick me at disquieting times, whispers audible as they brush and bruise my skin. "Return to us," they hiss, their voices peppered with embers glowing dimly from the violent explosions that have rocked my world in recent years. Obviously evil, yet terribly enticing. Familiarity is always enticing.
I suppose I'm in mourning for the life I once lived, for the foundation of supernatural knowledge I unwittingly lorded over fellow travelers, the one that supported my fragile and fatigued existence.
It was easy to believe that I knew everything, that the something that I had was the one and only true something. It was easy to believe that I was truly incredible in the scheme of the universe. I am, but now I know it's for more fantastic, wonderful, incredible reasons than I could have hoped to conceive upon my pedestal.
This particular moment of realization was the atom bomb to my fantastical foundation. That there could be a more pressing, wonderful purpose for life had never even crossed my previously distracted mind.
Star stuff.
Life in the freezing, churning methane oceans of a distant moon.
The lives of titanic, indestructible monsters on this planet, and then their sudden and very final disappearance.
The consistantly astounding and ground breaking evidences of the power of the mind.
Sophisticated language in creatures here on earth that are not, in fact, human beings.
The ever increasingly clambering claws of society to keep it's control over equality and self worth.
The discovery of true humility.
These are the many things that have blown apart my entire world.
The shrapnel remains. It fades, if slowly. It does at least that much. But the ghosts of my pedistal taunt me almost always.
I want to know. I want truth. I want real love.
I will have no less.
