Like cold ice tea and warmer weather...

I know sleep is friends with death,

but maybe I should get some rest,

because I've been out here working all damn day.

Blueberries and butterflies,

the pretty things that greet my eyes,

when you call and I say, I'm on my way.

Please spare me the time...

I sit and ponder my existence: how I'm here, what put me in these thoughts, these feelings, birthed from a timeless sleep, what it felt like, or rather the lack thereof, to not have been and now to be. And suddenly, I realize how absurd I am to exist. I then wonder why the supernatural, the thought of other beings, of the universe, must be distinctly absurd - by which I am no longer sure. Perhaps it is true that in a wandering head such as mine, one full of wonders and fantasy, the natural becomes supernatural and the supernatural becomes within sight of discovery and explanation, just as the return home after a life-long journey feels, for a moment, because of all the weight of new experiences, foreign and utterly lonely. 

On a highway to never...