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As the plot thickens I try to liken myself to a summers breeze, to float effortlessly through the days that are to follow.

The harshness of the crimes I bear are scarring across my being like a soiled flannel. My heart aches for simplicity and renewal of spirit, as I flail hopelessly in the belief that there shall be release from the heart rending pain that engulfs me.

My arrogance has brought me to this point. I thought I could survive without guidance, thought I was good enough to beat the odds.

My pride has derailed me and I feel the shame of the pitiless soul that I have become. There is no glory in trying to be better than any other soul on this planet, we are all scarred, all flawed, all unique in our own follies and fears, but no better than any of the rest of the creatures on this planet.

How sad the realisation, how merciless the idea that for all our trying to be different than another, with all our efforts to try harder, see more clearly, behave better, we still fall short of our potential.

Fall short of all that we could feel, if we were to just sit still and breathe in the silence of stopping, just stopping long enough to hear and obey.