Fear and disappointment are the name of the game. They are the shadow over the heart of one wanton to do good. When one is too fast in their desire, they neglect to recognize the truth of the little age. This little age is a name for that period of time between realizations, that darkness.

I see a man in the shadows of my life. He watches me, the invisible clocks, the unknowable knowledge. What can I do but meditate on all that came before me. We are creatures of a million memories after all.

I feel like I am grasping at straws. I am surrounded by invisible, intangible things and I wish greatly to reach out and hold onto them for dear life, lest I get gripped by the current, but I cannot do this. The winds of life are too fast for such small hands as mine to grasp.

When we are often compared to flowers flowering on the wall, I feel rather that I am that ineffable haze of occlusion between the starkest shadow and the morning light. My life is some distant image, captured not blurry, but simply out of focus. The camera was moving too fast.

I think about old carpets and that makes me sad.