I am the Wanderer, side of the existent. I am ephemeral, immaterial, unchallenged, and I am free. My footsteps mold the earth for moments, but soon fade. However, I am not a shadow of the sands of time. I am eternal. I turn the cogs of the machine, I guide others across shallow pools and raging tides, I am guardian angel and mortal foe. And so, the footsteps I take with another are writ into stone. I am ephemeral, immaterial, unchallenged, and free.

I am the Wanderer. My path is my own, and I shall blaze this trail for the next to come until I become dust, joining the road I walked ever on and on.

I am Dionysus, side of the existent. I am that in him that is driven to love, to be free of stress and care, to drown in voluntary madness and traverse into a dimension without pain. I am the ideal, the unhinged, the chaos in him. I am the wax of Icarus' wings, and the songs upon the lips of the Wanderer.

I reveled the gentle snowfall today. I felt the lyrical joy, the emotion tinted light blue that seeps from me in wispy clouds of incense, pulse in me as the white will-o-wisps danced. Though Icarus, burdened in the shadows, echoed in the back of my mind, I basked in the energy I was surrounded by. Two souls desired mine, maybe more. If I could only gain control, I would have them both. I would have them all. Love should be free, that all can agree, but few desire it as much as me. I would live in quiet resignation without it and continue on, but with it, I am euphoric, feeling a high that's withdrawal makes me an unpleasant man.

I am a beast of pleasure, a saint of sinning, and were I not pinned down, they would know my poison is the sweetest of them all.

I lie amongst a pit of stones and shadows, desperate to be free, yet digging myself deeper into the shifting pit with each movement made from confusion and fear. Dawn and dusk, day and night, all are naught but different shades of pure black. How can one who bears wings of love, friendship, and wisdom have them melt like wax when he veers too close to the sun? I am Icarus reborn, yet my sea is not one of cold waves, but a rocky doom meant to bore slowly into my flesh till I spill out and sift into nothingness. Love was the current of soft wind that tossed me higher, friendship was the glare of the sun which blinded me and so inadvertently warned, and expectations whispered into my ear words which forced me even higher. Then three pages scrawled with blue words and sweet beatings of the heart played the final blow. Now I am Icarus reborn, cast among a sea of stones to fade and die, crying in pain in fear as hope sifts from the marrow of my bones and the blood in my fingers out to the shadow and above, to where others may drink its sweet aroma and believe it belongs to prettiest flower. So it would be that in the decay of life others take root and grow.

I am Icarus reborn, and I am doomed to die.