I can hear the music far away, pounding in my brain. The anguished screams of tortured souls throughout the world who are and are nothing more. We desperately long to be a part of this thing called life, yet cannot find a way to express anything more than the merest fraction of what we feel. We are the echoes of your everything, the emotional repositories of a species. What we feel would destroy you where you stand.
We believe in humanity, in its greatness for all things, love, kindness, hope and even cruelty. We see your potential and have no idea how to spur you to the greatness that you could be, the greatness that you should be.
We feel the pain, anguish, love, hope and desires of you all. We cry with you, laugh with you, pine with you and die with you, yet are not a part of you at all. We are observers, the shadows in the rain. We are your echoes, and we know so much that you seem to not.
Why do we keep believing in you when throughout the course of our immortal existence you repeatedly refuse to recognize your own potential?
We are your everything, we are the one's who sing. We are your echoes, your shadows, your sentimental fools, your poets, dreamers, artists and occasionally your dictators. We are the immortal essence of your lives, we are your gods, your demons.
We continue on, always seeing, always hoping. We have found the truth of our existence, it is that we are fascinated by yours. We hate you and despise you, but ultimately we have come to love you, though you do not realize our existence, ours is bound to yours on an intimate level.
We are the echoes of your everything, we watch, we love, we sing.
-redbishopII
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