There is a space that can only arrive in silence, can only arrive when you have closed the door, turned down the offers, cut yourself off from the things which serve to distract you. In this space, suddenly there is magic, and curlicued words, and all the things you thought your life was supposed to be. These moments, when they come, are so rare as to be delicacies, but so precious as to carry you on through the desert until the next oasis appears. It's a cruel fate, to dedicate your life to such suffering, such endless longing and short moments of celebration.
But is it not a crueler fate, to have none of the fireworks, to trudge through a day in already worn footsteps, to clock in and out of a hamster wheel leading nowhere but back to the beginning?
I dig for answers,
my hands come up with pins.
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