Is it possible that existence is our exile

Is it possible that existence is our exile, And nothingness our home? In the twilight of thoughts, where shadows whisper secrets, I wander through the labyrinth of my mind, Each corridor, a reflection of forgotten dreams, Each door, a gateway to the unknown. I stand on the edge of reality, Gazing into the abyss of my soul, Where echoes of lost memories reverberate, Like distant stars in a forgotten constellation. The weight of existence presses on my chest, A heavy mantle of loneliness and longing. In the garden of my heart, roses bloom with petals of sadness, Their thorns piercing the fabric of my being. The wind whispers tales of forgotten loves, Of ephemeral moments that danced like fireflies in the night. I reach out, grasping the intangible, Only to find emptiness encircled by my hands. Is it possible that in this dance of shadows and light, We are merely exiles in a realm of fleeting illusions? That our true essence lies in the silent void, Where time ceases to exist, and the soul finds peace? In the quiet of nothingness, we are whole, Untouched by the ephemeral whims of existence. As I traverse the landscape of my mind, I find solace in the melancholy of my thoughts, A bittersweet symphony that resonates through the corridors of my soul. In this exile, I find a strange comfort, A reminder that in the dance of life and death, We are but fleeting whispers in the wind. And so I embrace the exile of existence, Finding beauty in shadows and light, In the roses that bloom with sadness, And in the stars that guide me through the night. For in this dance of shadows and light, I find my place, a wanderer in a realm of dreams, Embracing the mystic melancholy of my soul.