The conscience of being

There are nights when every single feeling and emotions decided to pour into your heart while your mind is facing the worst congestion of thoughts.
Thoughts that clasped around each other as if they were dancing but in motion, they’re collapsing into each other in the most vigorous brown movement while their hearts become prisms of light with souls piercing through each other.
If you don’t believe in the soul, if you only believe in science and that your body is made of matter, then, do you actually matter?
I ride on these waves of emotion like a pro suffer swaying left and right with the rhythm of a samba dancer.
But every now and then you can’t control the weather.
The wind might not carry you to where you want to go to.
So you fall.
You fall in the depth of the abyss where the bottom is endless.
How do you climb up if you never hit the bottom?
How do you get out if you never came through the door?
I live in my bubble of thoughts – thoughts that are sparing with each other, leaving bruises from disagreements.
I live in my abyss where free falling is considered flying, a skill every bird is born with, for I am no bird – just a soul.
If I am not good enough for you, I accept that.
I have accepted everything because I am the real deal.
The conscience of being.
At least – to myself.