Sometimes we have a soul and it is expressed through words or
paintings or music. Sometimes we have a soul and it is another human being.
This happens when soul departs, forms its own body and, then, in this human
form, seeks out its owner.
But why does it leave its rightful place? Perhaps the body is in too much
pain or the situation is too constricted. The soul, then, abandons the body.
Some would call this cowardice. Perhaps the reasons are inexplicable for
it always returns.
Newly formed, it is disoriented, has no name, knows nothing that may help
it survive except a vague memory of its owner. The faces are alike as two
hand match. They are not twins. The lines that traverse the hands may be
utterly different. The features may lie askew. But until the soul finds
its owner, the owner is listless and the soul has no name.
It may take years for them to find each other for the soul can only follow
the scent of longing over many miles. It has no clue or comfort in forgetfulness.
The only solace it has is that of recognition. Even this is a poor consolation
for it may take some time for the owner to recognize the nature of what
is in front of him. It takes years to find and years to wait. What then
is the point of such a fruitless effort? But I will ask of you: compared
to this, what is it that is worth waiting and living for?
But what happens if the soul is damaged or hurt or dying? I will tell you
what happens. Everything becomes monstrous-- this is what I have become
since his death.
Mika was my soul.
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