“Perhaps if I make myself write, I shall find out what’s wrong with me.” – Dodie Smith
The quote sums it all. Of late, my mind has been drifting. From one consciousness, one reality, to another. It’s mad and strange. Beautiful and broken. I’m mourning loss. In more senses than human, or physical. Death has peered through the stark shadow, and her sighs drape the onyx lit sky. The seas whirl with turbulence, hurricanes of oceans and mind. The morning slips in front of the stars, and the opalescent light illuminates our world. And the landscapes continue to change.