Standing as objects in the mirror – do you still objectify the lessons
of your past, reflected in the rear-view? Words are unnecessary now;
your scars have been reopened – haunting illusions.

Resurrected from the place where you once buried your dreams –
down to earth, yes, yet stripped bare by the relentless erosion of
existence. We rise to the thunderous stillness, questioning our very existence, yet finding no answers in man—responding to the chaos
around us, colliding like two wayward planets in this small world.
One day, we shall encounter familiar strangers, yet it will feel
peculiar to label any of them as friends.

In certain moments, I feel as though I am crossing myself out beneath
the weight of the cross, feeling an emptiness within— "survivor's
guilt"?

No… that guilt placed upon me has been paid already, not by my own
cost – yet for the cost of something more profound. And I willingly
surrender myself to a purpose that transcended death, then to endure
a life filled with trivialities, only to feel nothing until the very end.

                         That profound purpose is… my faith.