The sacred consciousness of the projected starlight is mirroring his soul.
Cuddling the ethereal magnificence of a lifeless shadow, once lived on earth.
To him, it’s all familiar - the harmony of existence and the melody of his heartbeat.
He’s been there before, seen it all, but there is no elixir to consciousness, he knows.
Seasons come and go, and so does he; in different forms, shapes, and sizes.
He loved women, and he loved men. He loved them all; for he was not always a man.
Solitude reminds him of the old days of the war, where he was a soldier.
He killed and got killed with honor and respect; until his last breath.
They asked him to share his story. He refused. They didn’t deserve to know then. Knowledge without experience turns one arrogant because of the presence of fear. Emotions are just temporary. He has no need for them as he knows they make him weak. He observes souls trapped in madness and despair, but he knows there is nothing to do.
They will call him crazy if he offers help, but they are far behind. Only someday, after many clock-ticking lives, will they understand. He is neither afraid of life nor death. Nothing really scares him. Energy is his only interest, for that he sacrifices his finite present lifetime.
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