- in the name of Allah -


(that masterpiece)
sometimes the soul is a sheet of music, either compressed or composed, finding outlet in rhythms and sounds when no other place seems to offer any repose. if we'd agree that life was cyclic, then how is it broken? can it only be through death or is change able to be little more than a metastizing token? some of my words float and fly while others sink and die, it doesn't mean their message is ever different, only that the medium they're received in seems to be from me independant. I've tasted a bit of what it's like to be free, to soar with the wings of birds and be bound by nothing but the aim of things. there is a test today and another tomorrow, each and every exam with a scantron of choices to see if we invest our fortune of time or live off of what we borrow. the pieces and parts inside have often lamented how fate appears as a final albeit divine intervention, sending x diverging from y, when the axis of life we thought was only in two dimensions. it turns out that I or we were wrong and what was perceived to be the course of budding history, was but a trial among trials to determine where we stand precisely. I won't be the fish with deception's light in the deepest depths of the ocean, every time I see faint glimmers lured its both a breath of life and a hellish roar of anguish. so, I recede my worthless currency from investing in you, from taking potential away and making a decisive divide between us two. there's a time when what we want is no longer what's best to be had, no longer the innocence of hope once nourished in the bosom of adolescence. therefore and thereby, every right you've been granted should be a right you exercise. enough is enough when the skin I developed wasn't quite thick enough for this. if from truth eventually follows peace, it's the reward of foregoing ourselves from dried bits of yesterday's destiny.