I call for my soul inside the soaring chambers of my soul, and their tall walls and vaults reverberate and multiply my voice into thousands of new me's, also lost, also searching.
"Where are you?" - "you" - "you" - "you" - "you"... "I'm here" - "here" - "here" - "here" - "here"...
Which one is me, I wonder, which one is the real me in this gigantic echo chamber, and the question also bounces about endlessly between the walls and the ceilings.
I pick up the closest echo and go with it, a mirror of me which is also me, me ish or me enough.
So I speak and I answer, bouncing off sound boards, and I'm here, and I'm there, and I'm everywhere, a wave propagating with a slight, but noticeable time delay.
Ironic, isn't it, not being able to find yourself among yourself. I wonder what wondrous symphonies I could create if I managed to master the tempos and echoes just right.