of my time?

What did I make of my time?

A more appropriate question than to ask: did I live a life-fulfilled? Asking for specifics is genuinely more attractive supplementing the detail within a feature of life. Yet more importantly in remembering such things that led to a fulfilled life. For without the small awkward hugs from acquaintances or belly-aching laughs with a friend - there'd be little to the summation of a soul.

And as we sit in silence; our truths binding us to obscure seclusion in the name of morality, and doubt seeping deep from our minds to the creases of our couch-cusions, we know. Set to knowing in a life-unfulfilled, destined for something greater - a passing hope not fulfilled by secularity - where we are the judged and they the victors. Destined for greatness, oddly enough, leaves a life seemingly unfulfilled.

Ever a day passes, as a brush scratches and falls, we find there is no purpose in uncharacterized successes. Rather, our hope through Truth rests on divinity and in its unceasing obscurity. Yes, we are the crazy ones, set sail to worlds-unlimited - destined for gilded perfection.


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