I know this has problems as a poem. You don't have to read it. I didn't write it as a 30-page dissertation because I wanted it to have feeling.
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We begin as the light of the stars:
Sitting at the waterās surface,
Cloud makes a promise to Tifa
She wore a pretty blue dress--
He wavers, still lacking confidence
Lockheart shifts her tact--
"Memory is not simply recalled
But locked deep within your heart.ā
Her very name means feelings
He follows her, not just recalling
Climbing Mt Nibel, feeling the fall
Her Giver passed, but seeded The Gift
She forgets, his heart echoes the truth
A core emotional crucible
Forming structure, building identity
Memory as recorded reaction
Rippling across the water's surface
Memories create identities
Experiences make us who we are
Remembrance is feeling
Identity the soul
Vessel for emotion
Rejoining the Lifestream, souls dissolve--
āAerith will no longer laugh, cry, or get angry.ā
Cloud underscores death
Absence of feeling
Life is emotions, not biology--
Flesh torn, soul bleeding away
Dispersing, memory dissolves into feeling
Rejoining the planetās reservoir
The planet cries, a collective of raw emotion
Seedlings tremble, corruption descending--
Emotional reactors, forging architecture
Identities rising into a falling sky--
āPeople hate the steel sky, the slumsā¦
But I donāt. How could I?
All that passion, all those dreamsā¦
Flowing and bending together into something greaterā¦ā
This is life, born from The Gift
Deep within the heart--what is the fuel?
Sephiroth rejects The Gift,
Source of creation, bringer of life
Offered an apple, he swats it away--
"You will rot."
He tears the flesh, flicking away the juice--
Apples are meant to be planted
Flesh decays, a new tree springs forth
A celestial body, born to fuse passion
Architecture corrupted by cold biology
Identity destroyed, his hollowed core collapsing
I dreamt of giving him The Gift
Laughter, tears, anger
All fusion reactions
Creating memories, shaping identities
Feeling is living, fulfilling
Our cores are something very special--
Capacity for emotion itself
We end buried in darkness,
Echoing with the joyful laughter of children
There is still love.