There is a stranger in the mirror and he has a face like mine. The feeling of being detached from this world grows as the February drags along, half-buried in snow, and its dark days draining and devouring the light reflected from the cold black waters. Burned to the core for now, but certainly not broken, and with wild abandon I will resurrect, be reinstated and alive. But for the time being, I choose only to exist and existence will be sufficient enough until I have something to say, something to give and somewhere to go. For now, let me sleep for I am weary of the waves of demands, overthrowing and all encompassing. I am weary of everything. Tread lightly when you pass by my door or my window, tread lightly, and weep not for me in the morning, like a friend once wrote, for I am here, as unbounded as the infinity, in the finite world.
Until the morning, let me sleep and dream, and wake up in the light I once knew.
