So easy to forget that there are always blank pages for dry throats.
Or rather, easier to neglect reflective exercises when the night knows company and the day obligation.
So what then? What's to convey then, beside the extent to which I've screwed my tomorrow over. And I mean this in the immediate sense! How then, this..
Even in my contentment I find conflict. Qualms that I sometimes wonder as being more than toys for my mind or indicators of my partaking in larger themes, unknown to myself.
Living between two lives, can I really give myself fully to either? Do you admire the steadfastness of a pendulum or accuse it of periodic neglect? Trifles, maybe. Weak in the warm glow of summer.
All else aside, I'm surrounded by love. I feel so much more stability within my life than I had been accustomed to, to the extent that I forget how we're all hurling through space (and bitter time!).
Except for a face that keeps appearing in my dreams yet. Almost three years. Or rather, only 3 years.
Tonight I am unsure how to proceed.
