A Paltry Offering

How strange it is when we expect something that we do not encounter. Stranger still is the feeling incurred by a sacrifice we make in expectancy, yet do not crave that which we have given up. When we lose but do not feel, does that make us less human? Less mortal? Never has it occurred to me that life is anything less than utterly cerebral. These feeble bodies are but containers for our selves, and the bettering of them is only to be focused on with longevity in mind. For the mind is the whole self, and the body only part.

How strange death feels when we are detached and we do not expect detachment. For we feel as though our burden has been lifted, and our selves freed, yet we weep silently. How sad it is when we cannot weep, though we try so hard. How difficult it is for us to feel pain when we hear only silence, never screams.