Journey To The Start

Dear reader,

I, by the virtue of fate, the divine deity, know all future paths scattered on all useless holy papers to crush down people with information that they can't defy, yet try.

Truth obliterates us all, something we don't want to accept but are bound to see, that such truth has become our own tragedy of fate.

Existence, written to only be flawed by puppeteering, yet I wrote characters hoping for them to rewrite endings that I already foretold and saw.

Hoping that one day they will save or defeat my ending of truth, so that I no longer will need to walk through the ruins of places I once cherished deeply, knowing that I can't stop traveling down memory lane.

These characters were my sense of pride and joy; now they've emerged into my literary world. Although they won't see it as a curse, I do.

I don't think they'll fully understand my perspective; however, they are in the theatre of lies and truths scattered around.

I'm not the eye of the beholder or beauty, but most definitely the cruelest of all. I'm a curse that knows all types of endings, has seen it all from different viewpoints, and still has a feeling I don't want to make it to the end.

I really wonder if I'm truly in control of myself, or am I the puppet being decided for by someone else?

I truly apologize for the fates I've read for a few people who met their end in slow wave tides of dread.

Caring about how one should end up, but that's not my place, is it?

I merely see past what others seem to miss. I can't control how one should live, but why does it feel like humans place their trust in me to actually do that?

I'm not inside their perspective; I'm outside, living, trying to uphold my own emotional dam that's about to explode.

My feelings aren't considered, nor my boundaries, though I'm still needed selfishly.

I can't live, so I put fictional, layered prints of words that I wish to be my rebirth, my start to my own deity duties and life.