In Due Time

ots

I reached a certain verbatim with myself.

A conclusion; avoiding any non-personal clauses.

I tried my best to close my eyes, and imagine.

To picture, crisply, every time that I read a certain chapter of a certain book, I tried to picture the scene.

It is working. But not as it used to.

I love writing, I will always write, no matter what; I will be here, behind every single world I type.

Sometimes, in hazardous (Rime), sometimes in things most dire, sometimes in things calmer.

But always true, and irregular.

Because, in most things, and as it goes, I am irregular.

I am nowhere in this scape.

But I can paint you a picture, because I need a painted picture to be in, to think, to wonder, to wander, to fall in love.

I can paint you a picture in which I am in, currently thinking.

Let's see...

You can say I'm on planet Mars, or on the rings of Saturn.

Somewhere deep in space, engulfed in the Milky Way.

Embedded in each constellation; as their respective lengths fatefully reach out to graze my aura, I do not retract, instead, I close my eyes.

In due time, things will happen.

I am not in one place, as I was before, I am not a conventional being anymore, nor am I a celestial orb.

I am, as always I repeat, something more than...

Nothing... makes sense[?].