Like a tornado swirling around me, I am in the eye of the storm. I have a front row seat to the destruction of everything I've worked oh so hard to build. I try to tell myself that like all tornadoes, the rain will halt and the winds will calm. The pieces that remain from the cataclysmic destruction of my former self, will soon dissolve and I will find that the only thing that was destroyed was the illusion, the attachment. Allowing me to rebuild a new, a stronger, a more mature me, that I didn't even know existed. So I have faith, that this too shall pass.
What would he do without this world faceless incurious, where to be lasts but an instant. Where every instant spills in the void the ignorance of having been. Of becoming something from nothing and then nothing from something all in one breath. What would he do? What did he do yesterday and the day before? Peering out of his deadlight looking for another wandering like him. Hello? Is anyone there? Edging far from all the living in a convulsive space among the voiceless voices that throng his aloneness. 
