Questions With No Answers

Who am I? I am a drummer, a poet, a good man, or so I'm told. I'm a sweet one, a dreamer, a hopeless romantic, yet doomed to loneliness. I am a reader, a carpenter, a funny man, or so I'm told. I'm a smart one, an intellectual, a book-smart sort, yet doomed to foolishness. I am a geek, a patriot, a well-mannered man, or so I'm told. I'm a deserving one, an honest guy, one, I hope, of character, yet doomed to self-doubt. Each and every single one of us is a multifaceted arrangement; within us burns the light, not of a single candle, flickering feebly, alone, against the darkness; but instead that of the chandelier, a collage of disjointed pieces cobbled together to form this union of elements, of emotions, that we call a soul. We try to identify ourselves by these characteristics, these parts of us, some certainly more than others. And yet, we're all doomed to question them. I'm so many things, so many pieces. I like most of them, but I don't know what to do, who to be. And nothing I am puts me any closer to what I truly desire - love. What does that make me?