Expanse of Spirit.
Or something that attracts the spirit and sends the soul off to far away, distant places, know, that it is I who am.
It is me who still remain here.
I have made mistakes, I have pretended. I am guilty of my sins. But ever since I pretended, and I made mistakes, I became dearer to you, so would you not love me because my mistakes and my pretenses made me come to you and look at you behind your mistakes, and your pretenses? Maybe you can forgive those random thoughts, those silly comments because you cannot bear to see my hidden face anymore?
Maybe I am merely putting myself up for folly. One laughs at the enigmatic speeches I make and pretend they do not know what I speak of. But I know here what I speak of. I speak of the faraway spirits which embalms you in the middle of the day with their vapid presence. I speak of the forgotten who was left inside the dank, dreary skin while you hid.
I speak of all the random places I have seen, talked to, and touched a little part of 'THAT' who speaks to you in your head.
And here I end, leaving on a note of nothing beautiful, nothing glorious.