Sometimes I write things.

I hope you can understand my random bouts of classical music and writing and deep feeling.
Of things I can't explain but that encompass me wholly.
Of illogical mumblings about impossible things that are so real to me.
And now I sound crazy.
And maybe I am.
But I can't imagine me without these things.
It pulses through my veins, begging me to keep living.
To rectify all those who have endured before me.

This isn't just me, but about all those who have lived and died this way.
Who could have given up, but didn't.
Who faced hell and walked or ran or crawled through.
This is about carrying on what they fought so hard for.
This is true humanity.
This is what it means to live.