There is nothing much to do these days except to take each day in its stride. Nay, it would be grossly inappropriate to say that, a child of mental fatigue born out of wedlock. One wonders at what age will one get to slow down, to take it easy. And what is next when that happens - a regression? One thing for sure: one should not, in any circumstance, remain still for too long. Dust, or rust, may gather, invade the head. Lines will slowly fade away; write them before they are lost. Move! Be moving! Shake off the rigidness. I am not calling for tears to fall, or tear in the head. Just me reaching for myself - one word every moment. If this world were a song, what will be your verse?
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