The easiest way to die is by having love. Because love smothers us in feelings that we simply cannot achieve and drive our souls to break into a million pieces as a fragile pottery vessel that drops to the floor, cracking with a muffled thud.

The easiest way to survive is by love, because it covers us in a warm blanket which keeps us safe and warm through the storm and winter of insolence and cold hearts, the ocean of the world which never goes dry, where people are saying nothing but hurt.

I will live here, I will die here. I cannot leave, for to leave is to die.

They saw to this long ago, in thier hopes of saving me they removed all choice, they forced it upon me untill I no longer was alive, I follow the master's bidding with little choice or ability to rebel. Freedom is a myth, creating to ease pain.

What do I feel for you? I feel a great warmth in my heart. The world is cold as ice and the storm winds are raging about us, cold, cold, cold fire. We touch and the world stays cold, but our cold hearts will warm. The very thought of having you by my side, holding you close and burrying my face into your warm touch seems for a moment like a memory that is not mine.

When this moment is over I will return to the storm, to find my way blindy through it, only to be decieved by the shining light. The shining light will shine for a while then be put out to keep me in the dark. There is no light but you, the one who can see, feel and know.

Standing still in the cold storm with snow blowing by my face, I drop to me knees and listen to the wind howl by and swear I can hear your voice. There is a cold feeling on my back like a wound of ice. The whip is hitting me, forcing me to get up and go further. I go on like one dead and under the master spell of a unholy one. I feel it all and yet I feel nothing.

I will keep walking, and despite all plans good and evil, there is no escape, here I will be. Since the years started at seven then now they are twenty four, having lost a land far away I have seen little light.

How I often wonder how my kin would feel at the sight of her child being dragged along so. In a time of saving, the savoir had no sense of right.

They removed all choices, because they felt I could not handle choices.

They removed all options, because for them, they could not live with them.

They will beat me should I stray from thier roads, because they know no other way.

They will tear down my castles in the sky because they cannot understand them.

They will tear my soul apart and find fault with it because they no longer care.

They will use thier power to force anything upon me because they must have control.

I am the child, they are the parent, to them anything else is an insult, even a suggestion.

How could it be that a boy should die at seven years and live to be twenty four? Look inside this soul and you will see, I have traded everything I have for but the luxury of dreaming of what it would be like outside of this place. Alas, I have used all my tokens, and I am without hope, lost forever with only fading dreams to keep my solitudes away.

Dreams are many, and I have had my share.

I once dreamed of being inside a great cavern of ice. The floor beneath my feet was made of hailstones, large ones the size of two palms. When they were stepped on they would crush, revealing inside a blue middle center surounded by the white snow, making a odd noise as they crumpled under my feet. Standing a little way away was a young girl. I could not remember what she was wearing but she was no older than 12. Her eyes were pure, with a blue fire in them and her hair was blonde. As quickly as I saw her, she ran way outside. I tried to follow, but I was too slow.

What shadows and meanings are in these dreams?

Perhaps I will never know for the boundless limits of my prison. I would cry but to cry would be to invite something terrible.

It is cold out, the wind is blowing and it is dark. I remember a verse from the bible, something about better to eat a bit of dry bread in peace than a banquet elsewhere. I can see myself on the top of a wooden roof, holding in my hands as the wind blows these small pieces of bread dry and crumbling. I would breathe with the night and accept the small time and peace I had to eat this bread, perhaps even feeling some tears. It was a powerfull moment. I had never felt more free in all my dreams.

There is always the battlefield which impressed my mind the most. Where I stood with armour and mail soaked by the rain, lone in the fields of blood. What sacrifices have I made to be alive? What have I done?

I have traded my soul for death. Usually ones trades thier soul for something more than dark silences followed by eternal blackness, but who could argue with the bitter pain?

This world is ending, the world I am in. It's very life ebbes away. I see the lines of it's roots, the years it lived. There was a time when we fought a great battle and won. But victory always fades away into the inevitable past when all is forgotten, when you seal away all things before because they pain you so.

When the mere memory of these things drives you into madness.

This is no dream this time, our light, our times, they are fading. I can feel it, slowly ebbing away into nothing as I look out I see my dreams fading, my tears flowing and now more than ever, I see the horrible reality I have blinded myself to for years.

So this is what it means for one's soul to die. It's a pity, I could have gotten more for it.