let

all this thrashing and shaking is loosening my grip.

and maybe it's a good thing.

authorship

if only i could rewrite the pages of the last few chapters.

but the book of life is written in ink and not in lead. there is no eraser to undo my mess, no correction fluid to cover up my faults.

mistakes made can be redeemed but not undone.

and still, life goes on.

for an optimist, i'm pretty pessimistic

picking up the shards and, amazingly, it looks as if it can all be pieced together again.

but how long before everything falls apart once more?

i'm not used to being happy so this feels like another delusion.