I'm Here. I'm Good.

The horse emails the sheep and disturbs her life. And then the minutes pass slowly, not 60 seconds but an eternity and the reply lays in between spaces.

There's no point, there's no reason and nothing really matters. Pointless. Stale. Empty. But so full.

And I have to speculate that God himself
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay

I didn't come here to talk about horses and sheep.

Things are well with me. After I thought the agony would kill me I find myself feeling alright. Something has changed though. Something clicked in me and I don't yet know what it is. I feel like I'm observing myself from some higher place.

Time will tell, as it is often said. Let's just hope it's not too much time and that in the end, it's not time wasted. What a pity that would be.

*Currently listening to The Blowers Daughter by Damien Rice*