The beginning and the end never appealed to me. We always try to canonize our existence after the fact, as if there's a thread tying purpose and reason together, creating this beautiful structure of knotted rope. Well, I'm just a man. And I'm encased in my own space, living in my own time. We've all been through these stages, some more-so than others. We are the human race, distinctly each our own enigma, and yet we attempt to express our essence in realizable terms. Words unhinge at the tip of your mind; there's no meaning to what I say, only a hopeful grasping for understanding. To mean something we must entwine our minds as one, experiencing impulses, epiphanies, judgments, and feelings on convergent wavelengths. Only then are we communicating, and not lying beneath a layer of fabricated sentences, carefully analyzed and spilt from our brain's pool. When the sun comes, and the water's all dry, did those words mean anything? Could you feel them; did you bottle them up for drinking? Or did they just evaporate, to become part of that same cycle, only to rain down again?