The wall is made of so many things which, separately, split souls that cry out to the empty darkness, but bound together become impenetrable.
I know, because I have tried to push it down, to cause it to crumble. It seems nearly sacred, guarded against all that is good and evil, both at the same time.
Its very existence has threatened mine, nearly breaking my bones and stealing my hope.
Should it weaken, becoming vulnerable enough to let the light in, what will become of what we once were?
I will lie still, weary in the darkness of midnight.
A hand, not so small anymore, beckons. We will try once more, with all our collective might, to cast forth the scars and imaginary vessels so that we may understand.