I have been filled with the sense of life; a feeling that some may spend the plenary of their own chasing; it is this overwhelming perception of departing from the past, following the unknown, inquiring the places I will end up, and the things I will achieve along the way. It feeds my ambition, and taunts my curiosity. The many memories I collect, entwine themselves like rope, and are what pull me through when the sky turns against me. I am nothing more than a book. I leave my past beneath the already flipped pages; not to be forgotten, but rather kept in such a way that defines my being, while still guiding me through the words to come. Though my story has not yet reached its end, I have finally grasped that life is not to be perceived, but simply, to be lived.