My Opus may be premature
But I realise it isn’t a point in time
It is a distance between two extremities
The space between hate and love
Between a heart beat and a pulse
The difference between wrath and calm
The interstitial between health and disease
The moments between life and death
Asphyxiation and a breath
And all of this stuff, this in between-ness
Is arbitrary
For each of us
Yet we continue to pluck the I
The root of Me
The core of ego and place it on the pedestal of importance
Of inexhaustible exoneration
Self promoting agents of despair
We hope, along the way, in that stuff we are drowning in
We are noticed.
-W.E.
Bathe in all that stuff.
Where you surface to breathe is where you belong
-W.E.
lonerloaner 