.: hard to behold :.

I have been caught up by the wonder of all these pretty little things. These days, I find myself wandering from town to town - a place where I can find safety and comfort. Every time it plants that unsettling seed within my heart, I am moved to try and do nothing at all. But it is not like I have been dying all these years, simply growing satisfied with who I am and where I belong. Nevertheless these things keep coming to me. Their effect cannot help but be that much further behind. I would prefer that they move along. Maybe find another soul to antagonize. All around me, there stand the graves of souls that were probably just as weary. Do they really have nothing better to do than to steal these precious moments from me? They come at a time when I cannot collect my thoughts. Where do I find the courage to take my stand, or at the very least plan my escape? Did they plan to move in as subtly as they did? There is a beauty far beyond it all, if only I can see this for what it truly is. I fear that I have misplaced the notion that the most dangerous cries are those that come as softly as these. Just behind the paradise that they offer lies a trap waiting for me to throw myself upon. But could I really pull it off? Or is all this simply the reflections of the hope that I am still a person of substance? These trials come in pairs. But it scares me how I almost recklessly thirst for them, as if they make all the difference. I would love to make a clean break from what lies before me, so that I could be salvation to even ones such as these. But it truly is not that simple. My hands are stained by the foolish pride that pushes me to continue forward. Soul, listen closely... there is nothing for you here!