Words, for close to a year now;
Have been nearly impossible to find.
A paragraph of personal writing seemed to require an act of God,
But considering all existence is an act of God in and of itself;
I guess, it’s not as grand of a challenge as first imagined.
My mortality is the one thing giving me peace at the moment,
A world of difference from the anxiety it has provided historically.
Where or what I call home is officially immaterial,
And I’m grateful.
I’ve experienced things I thought always wanted recently,
Under circumstances I would’ve never chosen,
And yet I’m ready to let it all go.
To move on and have it exist merely as a memory.
Timing is still sensitive though,
That will never change.
And I’m grateful for this as well,
For it helps my reason keep on fighting my impulses quite well.
Onto another year of life,
Filled with questions and possibly not many answers
But who says that is anything to be upset about?
Another year, that I will gladly live one day at a time and no more.