Somewhere in the other part of the world, seperated by continents. Perhaps in the morning, when it is the night for me. Would you listen to the same song which I am listening to, would you perhaps think of me, when I am thinking of you. It has passed, it is over. Have you shed tears? Were they in joy, or were they in sorrow?

Perhaps I have burnt what little is there left of my destiny, in one single stroke of passion which takes many years to fade and die away. In one single moment, where I would imagine, I am the sword, and the sword is I. On a strip, where I would fence my life away.

I would think to dedicate this entry to you dear.

What is our life measured by?

Is it by the passions we have ignited? Be it lust, love, nobility or a fiery spirit? Or is it the blood we have spilt, the enemies we have made, the conquering as they submit defeated?

Each moment as I write ceased to exist, as do I, as do all of us. Ceased to exist as we cease to do what we are doing. After all, our flaws, is because we exist.

I should think this should be a reflections of my thoughts. A logical reasoning individuals in a sea of chaos. It would seem the chaos of order is I and the endless chaos, is an orderly predictable chaos.

In short, depression is an overwhelming instant from which you succumb to the hormones, the chemicals in your blood, the electro-pulses in your cerebrum, the synapses in your neurological systems which does not make any sense to your otherwise reasonable cycle of thoughts.

This day shall pass, as with any other. This depression will pass, as will before. This moment will end. What will the next day bring? What will living bring?

A requiem if you will, a requiem for a dream.