I Was Dying. Like All The Other

One Impossible Day, Of An Impossible Month, Of An Impossible Year.

I Think Of Rivers, Of Tides. Forests And Water Gushing Out. Rain And Lightning. Rocks And Shadows. All Of These Are In Me.

It’s Pretty Thin, The Wall Separating Healthy Confidence And Unhealthy Pride.

Don't Pointless Things Have A Place, Too, In This Far-from-perfect World?

In Traveling, A Companion, In Life, Compassion,'" She Repeats, Making Sure Of It. If She Had Paper And Pencil, It Wouldn't Surprise Me If She Wrote It Down. "so What Does That Really Mean? In Simple Terms." I Think It Over. It Takes Me A While To Gather My Thoughts, But She Waits Patiently. "i Think It Means," I Say, "that Chance Encounters Are What Keep Us Going. In Simple Terms.