What happened to the rhythm? It seems to have skipped a beat. Feels like being right back at square one. What happened to the flow? Going back after a long time, you still recognize it, but when it’s still too near, you don’t see it. Has something changed? Something’s always changing. At times it feels like a writing vacuum, dust and particles spinning around. You want something more, is that what it is?
What is the purpose? What is your purpose and how do you bring your purpose to life? How do you know if anyone cares? Does it matter if they care?
Stop and go. Stop and go. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Kaboom!
What’s that? You said you had something going the other day and you intend to come back to it.
Oh! Where is this going!?
It’s the feeling as if after a performance—the curtains have closed, the audience has left, and it’s just you in the dark, in the quiet—just you—left with the rhythm of your own thoughts, your own words.
Only it’s not a performance; it’s real life.