There will be better days...

Maybe it's wrong when we remember breakthroughs to our own being as something that occurs in discrete, extraordinary moments. Maybe falling in love, the piercing knowledge that we ourselves will someday die, and the love of snow are in reality not some sudden events; maybe they were always present. Maybe they never completely vanish, either.

And he knew, knew for sure, with an absolute certainty, that his breakthrough was eminent. This is what is feels like to be on the verge of a breakdown and a breakthrough. The secret? It is not some grand, wretched emotional breakdown. It is, in fact, so very mundane. It is an inability to cope with the commonplace that is so extreme it makes even the grandest and loveliest things unbearable. It is feeling that the only thing that matters in all of life is this one moment. It is everything out of focus. It'a failure of vision, a failure to see the world how it is; to wonder why the hell things look the way they do and not - and not some other way. It is realised that if you’re about to break, you should go for broke.