allan

The wind bears down like that of a calculating January tundra. The wind calls to me, as if to say that the fear I possess is not unfounded. Moments like these, yes indeed moments like these strike the bitter core of mans heart. The slumber awaits as a sentinal, a grim reminder of the mortality that awaits us all. In the middle of this eccentric confusion is I, how comical it must seem to express such a juxtaposition of emotions. A canvas somewhere in the universe has just been defaced forevermore, and in the midst of this degredation exists the everpresent I. The footsteps of this journey have been filled with mire, and my body wears with each passing cycle of bipedal locomotion. As I slip into this frigid slumber, a small laugh escapes my lips for but a fleeting moment, a monument to the futility of this existence, an epitaph for the eternal I.