How often do we cross the line, layered in our own despondency for the less important?
How does our grade of conciounceness declare us stable to best focus our energy, or power?
Who would say how much our deference flounders, themselves our judges being reluctant to its scheme?
Which is that to be human or curious, where we bend to our whims as often as not pretending our disposition?
My head is felled of late in a fated hope, as I well wish the new having afore embraced its possibility. And alas, my potential breathes its evidence when I was hired. The disstraction of “all is new†bargains with my level of comfort, and my senses adapt to this foreign. And always within my minds’ eye there is the furture, and I stand with the knowledge I now baste in willingly, enraptured by a dream I haven’t even begun to develop. This weight has tempered my person to ellapse into a moody swing, engaging my loved ones who could propser as time expands and the days become one; then I realize, they are the cushion separating me from such nonsense.
In this otherwise cold reality of having no one, of being alone, I would have lossed already. Being wrapped in such a numerous task wherein a juggle my stars, it’s begun with encouragement from them. And the rest is sandwhiched in the probability of my own success. I am incised from stone, and that unbreakable.
