To obsess is regressed depression, but absence, the precursor to insecurity, challenges my sanity and sanctity. My level of interest is high. I want to let go.

It’s crazy to assume that something that has happened once in this universe will not repeat. So why obsess?  I do remember the love of life and the life of love – It’s so easy, as far as I recall.

It’s reciprocation that is the monotony of monogamy, and again, it’s the absence that breaks up this silence. Is the existence of silence in the lack of action?

It’s so easy to make a smile, so we should repeat it all the time. The comedy of it all is that through age, wisdom is gained. Yet I can sit here bewildered as the answers dodge my insight.