Uncertainty,
Never knowing what’s going on inside your head
If I could only get a glimpse
If I could only get a hope
I don’t know why I keep trying
When it’s so obvious

I just can’t lose my last glimmer of hope
I can’t let it go
I feel that once I’ll do it
Everything will break
Well, my everything, my dreams and my desires and my imaginary meetings

I’m trying to let go
But it’s just so freaking hard
When the memory of no memory haunts me
If I’d only get a sign
Might I break,
Or might I fall into more delusions?

It is said that everything on Earth is made of stardust
Therefore we are made of stardust.
So then, I wonder, what is our mind made of?
What is our soul made of?
Can we be certain that either of them is more than stardust?
After all, it would make sense to be made of the dust of a dying star,
We’re entirely made of it (it is said).

Or aren’t we?
Can we say that mind and soul is ours?
Can we posses them?
Can someone else posses them?
Can they be our own creation just as we are the creation of stardust?
Perhaps, perhaps not.

I don’t know if the soul is real
I can not know until I pass away,
But my mind,
I am certain of its authenticity
I know that I know it, and that it is the only thing that I can be sure I own completely.
Blossomed from me, and not from dust

So then, if I were to you give something
I’d always give my soul,
Because the mind is greater, and it’s mine.