Where´s my soul vacation?

I’m very sorry we never loved; I have always wanted to love and be loved. The imprint of our existence on our conscience has made it impossible to view the world about us. The events and people pass by like characters in a film. One day we realize we are simply actors in our own drama. And like actors and drama we discover emptiness. What is this existence we call life? What are we here to do, to see, to hear, to feel, to know, to believe?

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The wind chime gently rings in the breeze, a hollow single note. In an instant without our knowledge we can be gone. What is the order in all this? Is random entropy the invisible hand that governs our existence? Are we slowly deteriorating until all is cold and dark and isolated? Our existence only marked by the instance of a brief and illusory burst of energy? Are we simply here to hold the hands of our soulmate in this slow spiral outward?