I'm waiting for him-- that wise, old fellow to walk up to me, whisper to me a great piece of advice, an old saying perhaps, a simple set of words that contain a deeper meaning.
I want to find the answers to the questions that trouble me, that push me to kill the cat with curiousity.
I want what's in the stars.

Blurry, distant people and places. I wish to have them under crystal glass.
I wonder out loud, in my head, in my sleep, I wonder why.
I stash puzzle pieces in my pocket, hoping one day I could get the big picture.
I keep forgetting that pocket has a hole in it.

Memories flood my mind, and sometimes it's as though I drown.
When, where, why, what, who.
Too much, it's all too much.
I lay in a silence, trying to catch up with reality.
I prefer dreams.
I think, and think, and think.
I try and predict my tomorrow based on my yesterday.
Hypothesis incorrect.

I want to create my own path, my own way;
I want to be the light in the darkness.
I constantly wish for control over the uncontrollable, an omniscient position.
Blindfold me, and I would still be able to point in the right direction.
But that's not how it works, of course.

I wish to do more than just live.
More than just breathe air, sleep, eat.
I want to love, to experience, to create.
I want to be human.