The greatest and forgotten gift of our race. Reason, calculate, ponder, create.
Some use it for little, applying it to the bubble of the present, it is easy to accept what life is. Like walking a street, without peering into the windows of life’s great questions. How a gift goes rotten with such depreciation. Others are the greatest of us, for them thought is a wave, it guides their movements and lives, they can do no wrong. Where ours stumbles in stages, their lives neither begins nor end, they simply exists powerful, unstoppable and beautiful; The intellectual ghosts. Finally there is us. The few, we know not what to think, but we think. Endless spiralling dreams and cyclical hopes, those of us who dwell in some far off existence, and yet we live the lives as the others; destined to be eternally disappointed. Thoughts come not as waves or as a confined entity, instead it strikes as lighting. Piercing us at once with so much confidence in our thoughts, we squeeze what we can from that time, before the juice drains away for other far off time. We are the brutally inspired, the sin of Socrates, the waiters, the dreamers, and the thinkers of thought.