If there were ever a greater vocation as the critique of the soul, embodied by reason, I should not have found it. The great lattices in which experience hangs need ever to be trimmed through thoughtful reflection.
The spoon of time laps up our lives much in the same way love laps up our desires.
Hunger empties the vessel.
And we find ourselves carbonated by the wellspring of life; bloated by gulp; satisfied by taste.
Open windows breath steady songs into my room; the canopy of imagination jettisons dark ruminations, lifting my chest and my chin; I inhale the oxygen of spring; its cool streams cleanse these porous portals of nature, igniting the beacon that stretches into her world; and the veil dissolves.
There is a world that lives behind your eye.