I wrote all those years ago of my life here in Edinburgh. "My life here is a myriad of chaos and promise."

What has been chaotic has been and is being. What promise this has held has passed. The promise came to fruition, and now, again, I am new at the start of another. As if I were led by the nose, by the whim of my appetite, I follow. Happily. Stresslessly. And truthfully, I wouldn't have it any other way. Just as the title of this 'whitespace' of mine, I see but through a glass darkly. Which is okay by me. I hold on to this concealed promise. I hold with hope and faith.

I have no clue about the future. But what I have become, my future self of my past, I am content with. To this, I have but few regrets. That, I believe is a good achievement. I cannot truthfully say that I ever truly considered what I would be like in four years' time. I often thought about my predicament in the future, but I never truly dwelled upon who 'I' would be in the future. The core of my being, the nature of my self. 'I' was always conceived of in very immediate senses. I know the person that I would like to be in an attainable amount of time, but for me, time is a very fluid and immaterial concept. Perhaps more so than the average person. I am not someone who considers my whereabouts and achievements in five years time.

And yet, perhaps in five years time, I would be someone who considered such things. What curse? What blessing?

At this point, I am for molding. To change and to make into. My father believes that once you reach the age of 14, you are shaped fundamentally at your core. This is further consolidated by the 'coming of age', which he unconventionally places at the age of 19. The year that he sent me a birthday greeting of his own accord. I came of age, and to him, I am now therefore unalterable. I am who I am. Impervious to the blows of time and culture. To society and its evils. I may conceal certain aspects, I may exaggerate others, but the key components are to me as the constructs of an atom. Essential.

Or at least it was, before science ravaged it with its merciless inquiry. Here I am, to imbue atoms with feelings. This is not what I really believe, of course. But my imagination is a dominant queen.

I prefer this world. Where I could walk into the Meadows, feeling as if we were all participants of a supernatural parade. I prefer my imagination, where the inanimate feel, and the animate transform when we are not looking. When we are not looking hard enough. I suppose I live in multiplicity, as reality is also something that I constantly seek, oftentimes within the unreal. Those celluloid constructs that cast that beautiful light onto our faces. And it is so beautiful.

I would say that my father is wrong. I have always felt as I am. I have always been myself. My formation has and always will change, but who I am was not made this way. 'I' was a potential, and my potential has been achieved with applied force and time. It's all physics, really.

To say that I can't change now is another folly. I write differently, I speak differently, and I think altogether differently. And yet 'I' am still the same.

Atoms.

I often feel this way, and when I do, I often write. Like a string, not too long or too short, but just long enough, set between two points, creating tension, struck at a certain point, and left to reverberate- like a deep harmony through my centre. A deep, breathless, almost, heavy and unbearable, painfully sweet feeling that- if I closed my eyes to enjoy it, would feel as if every part of myself that matters is settling and fitting in. All correctly, all in the right place. Pulling all back into the centre. Being still. At peace and yet filled with a deep joy like molasses. Heavy, dark, and deep. Sweet, yet vulgar to the touch. Filling, yet unnoticed.

If I truly did know the sensation, I would say that I was being pulled through a vortex through the centre of myself. Gently though, of course.

A deep pull.

Calling, in the dark.