M i k a

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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