Your entire body shakes you when laugh, as if your sense of humor was built on a fault line. And the coast of your heart falls into the ocean of yourself, and I'm left looking for this Atlantis. Left looking for this place that exists in the stories told by old men who were there when mathematics assured them. Their willingness to believe was greater than their determination to dismiss. I'm left looking for Atlantis, regardless of the scientist that insists my efforts would be better spent unearthing clues to where the wild things went. Try as it might, faith can't put a dent fact. So we must settle for science re-enact the world, as if the universe was curled around this globe. And if we consider that the universe is never ending then we're not even a microbe. We're like a death threat from a pacifist; we're nothing. But the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle states that: "Nothing is fo' shizzle" and the interesting thing about that is that it ensures that the principle itself can't even be a fact. But we still act as though this time we can see the forest through the trees. Regardless of the soft wood lumber levies, we fall in line like reforested pine. It's all straight rows where everything grows a little less wild, a little more humdrum, ho, hum. We come from the mentality that rarely sees the horror in symmetry or the beauty in non-conformity. We insist that for us, everything must be clear cut. But what about philosophy? What about the tree that fell in the forest that no one was around to hear? It's a little less clear, a little more deep. Deep like, if Oprah Winfrey farts in a bathtub and no bubbles come to the surface, is there an alternate universe where the price of gas is cheap? Possible, but we can't prove it any more than we can prove that light can move fast enough to stop a monster hiding in the closet. We deposit our faith in fear but clear our minds to the possibility that maybe we as adults still get scared of the dark; things that go bump in the night.  And I can't prove that I've ever loved anyone, but despite the smoking and the overweight body, I want to grow old with you. Go through muscle and joint pains to the point that every time it rains we can feel it in our knees. Get arthritis so bad that every time we move we sound like two bowls of Rice Krispies. We're all "Snap, Crackle and pop", but we still take the time to stop and take the time. I'm looking for Atlantis; letting faith turn this fiction into fact as if I tracked this missing continent for decades. And all I know so far is that it is somewhere under water.  I'm looking for clues in the most blurry photos of UFOs, and thinking, ‘If aliens are so smart, then why don't they start making their spaceships look like airplanes? That way we'd just point to the sky and say: "An airplane, how common place and not at all suspect."’ We're all shipwrecked on this idea that everything has to be explained. But maybe we just need to believe that lemmings jump off cliffs to prove that they love us. And sure,that sacrifice is as empty as the box of condoms that politicians used when they thought they could fuck us. But it is nice to believe that somebody up there cares enough to plummet onto jagged, back-breaking rocks in an attempt to tell us, we're beautiful. Tell us that as far as life goes, our finger prints are like snowflakes. We leave them on everything, but they melt in the time it takes to touch someone's tongue. But if we're lucky, maybe we're remembered along with the sunken cities of a lost continent. This is for each child who is a monument to the ones who came before. Maybe the best we can hope for is that those we leave behind find comfort in knowing that we're born out of love, and not science. That biology explains the how, love explains the why. So in the event of our deaths we hereby bequeath all of these words to you. And they are only meant to say that uncertainty is something everyone goes through. And there is not much in the way of proof, but believe me, we loved you. We held our breaths for your first step, your first word. We laughed when it finally occurred to you. Lemons are sour. This is for every time love becomes the finest minute and the darkest hour. This if for those who scour the streets wondering where the wild things went. For the believers who leant us their madness. This is for everyone we miss. And this is for the children who were lost. Sadness is nothing more than the cost of being able to smile once in a while. And grief is the trial we stand to offer evidence that your finger prints were left on our hearts and our skin. And in terms of proof, love can be demonstrated in giving. Our lives consist of the efforts we give in swimming towards the lost continent where you are rumored to be living.