Penumbra

Have I stopped pausing for a moment, only to keep penning the bizarre, melancholic despondency of events—while this strange vibrancy hovers all around me? Swiftly, yes. But not because I wanted to. The moon, the stars, and those 2 a.m. thoughts still remain the same. What’s changed is the desire to reach for the ink pot, to refill the dried nib that once soaked in all my contemporary weight. I’m still the same guy— in a world built by Heisenberg. Uncertain. Unresolved. Just like always.