Balance has come home to rest when
Sleep stops being an escape, but a sweet necessity.
Work stops being a chore, but a curious investigation.
Games stop being guilty pleasure, but creations of mystery and magic.
Writing profoundly stops being an apprehensive and selfish foray to try and tear away from darkness, and becomes an escapade to learn what I know and say what I mean. (- vivacious ranging to coax honeyed-ice truths out and to hew them forms.)
I stop needing liberation and start reaching out.
I can and do live like this, once I finally scrape off the bleak veneer.
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