If I waste any more time pretending to just float through my life without seeding this earth with plastic poise of gentility. I may as well provide stark supply of randomness and universal spiritualism. I can not produce any other distinctive features that determines gloob splotches of a mirrored life that long lost. Or, perhaps I was never meant to seek council with my other selves.
I can only conceive my unusual sense of self satisfaction staring me in the dimples of time and face. Nevertheless, some hope shadows through pinholes of illumination searing from my fractured being into a new moral compass of compassion and destitute.
Seeking is still number one.