It is a reflective time of year, I suppose. Been dwelling upon the past, which, of course, can only go on so long before bleeding in with toxicity. I manage to manage it well enough.
I suppose the concern is about the potential desperation. And the fear that it is already here. Perhaps been around for a while, and only the ability to be oblivious be my shield. Yet, I don’t believe that to be the case.
It is a bit like a curse. That insatiable itch. That oh, so human desire to know the future before the seeming snail’s pace in which we find ourselves encountering it.
Endings. Beginnings. Been on my mind, though I suppose the truth is in all the living in the between.