I come here to think of you. I know you are not here, but I remember when you were, so I come here for that chance that you’ll be there and remember me.
There are a thousand words to say, but I find my mouth closed so often lately. Is it that my words aren’t being heard, or is it that I’ve decided that the audience isn’t worth talking to?
We’ve recently returned from a modest vacation, exploring Eden, and I have discovered that, given the choice, I’d prefer my mountain home… while visiting Eden to get away is the dream, being there permanently would make me soft, and that isn’t happiness for me. Happiness is being able to rise above and survive, to achieve, and desire to achieve.
For example, we stand on a beach and look into the ocean. My vision of a calm sea and crystal clear water echoes beauty, but without waves there’s really no reason to get in. If I want to swim, I can use a swimming pool, the ocean is for fighting to survive.