How I feel about the future is different from how I feel about the past. The two are mutually exclusive, but they withhold a strange relationship with each other, striking the oddest chord in my emotions. If I separate myself from the wants and needs myself as a human being naturally possesses, then the past and the future become non-existent, like a fabric with no end or beginning. But when I ponder how the ocean sounds stir the deepest desires in my soul, the past becomes translucent and the future becomes erratic, with a finite power that is ultimate and unforgiving. So I cling to the vain hopes and I fight against the urge to cave in, and I sigh by the imaginative point to life. Life takes on the haunting of the past of reasons combined with specter of my goals, and forms them into an illusion for me. The illusion toys with me like a cat plays with a tiny mouse, where I am caught fighting for my life with no time to wonder why.