Of all the gifts existence deigns upon us there isn’t one more precious to our kind than the misread and undervalued gift of freedom, a gift we’re blinded to when we are young.

Don’t teach me things I cannot do, and make me follow after you to dreams I’m not accustomed to

I love sentences you can’t read out loud in one breath

I’m on the edge of existence, looking out at nothing, the substantial, rich, eclectic nothing of which all reality is woven.

The winds of time push us around; we live to love.