At last the excuses have run themselves out, at last every distraction has been dealt with and the wine bottle lies empty in the recycling bin it is late but you do not sleep. At last you sit down by the blank page and caress it until letters fall out, until black ink smears the margins and your head dances again in pictures.
At last you remember - truly remember not just in platitudes but in your heart - that you have seen the other side and did not belong in it, that you are not fearful of work but of the lack thereof, that you may get distracted by the well lit path but it is not for you to walk. Year after year you remember, you are reminded. The story unfolds at your fingertips it is late but you are not tired.
You are what rises from your ashes.
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