The futile and unstable qualities of life are a major concern for me on a good day.
When things are going bad, man it's just hard to take a breath.
I try to find solace in the breeze, as it blows through the leaves and fills me with stories of other times, other places.
In the bright colors of flowers and the sound of the grass beneath my feet.
It all goes away in the end, to trouble over things that don't ask or require my attention is a wasteful endeavor. A poor use of my time and considerable riches.
But she haunts me, you know. They all do once they reach that place that's locked away tight, far from anything that might make it all worthwhile.
When touched by things that elevate, the slow descent is much like dying.
But dying's easy. It's the living without that kills.
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