Spirit

When I am tired or benumbed, weary of someone, or even when I cannot understand why I feel so, when I am not satisfied with myself and ask questions to which I know no responses or am unwilling to know answers to, the most perfect act, or the one sole thing I can do, is to lie beneath a blanket. I feel safe now. No one can see me, even myself. When my troubles increase and grow more important, when I take distance from the soul to judge it, now I can set myself to do anything and make memories out of my soul and cast it. Each of my stationary souls are busy doing something: they hide, become invisible, and conceal bitterness. I sometimes set myself to flee from my soul or make an embrace that shelters another soul. These souls, more or less, replicate my own behaviors: they are my own souls. I should mention that they resemble spirits too. I read somewhere that "the spirit is the same as the human soul".