The life of the universe flows through the pours of every created being that has roamed a time or space.

The particles of air richochet off of this thing that cannot be seen. It is something more than simple thought.

This feeling, I do not know, is a mighty force that tears through everything and nothing all at once.

I assure you, you cannot feel it. You are too cold.

But I know it, and this wave cools my soul. Though not physical in the least, this figment of my imagination is strong enough to penetrate what I am.

Must be the echolocation of my mind, because I sent out my wave a long time ago, and only now does it return to bring results.

Simply put without the dance of words: It's back, unperterbed by the time from then to now, and the distances I've-

we've-

traveled.

What could I possibly tell you has come to pass if I do not want them myself.

This isn't some simply mathematical equation, with variables of x and y that'll yield some result I could base my reaction with.

No.

Because my standard reaction for this is something I do not want.

I think it's the Irony of this ordeal that has me multiplying by negative one, because I would never have seen myself making a call like this.

I do not want this vibration.

But it wants me.

I would not like to deal with this-

but it remains no matter my action.

The only solution for it

is one that's impossible to make.

No cause for alarm, let me chart my data a bit more, but this wave that's come back shows that you can ever have bad news with data.

And to think: all of science is to disprove everything.

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I. Hate. Lang. I find myself thinking of a "so what" statement for everydamn thing I write now. ROAR.

updated Sep 10 '09 by Poozzab