Why is this heaven so perfect? Wind-whipped and sun-bleached with that salty tang in the air. It's more of a strong breeze than a wild wind, the sand's barely moving. I have a chair, and a foot-stool even, and this is my lunch break. But still, my mind is restless. I'm not on the winning side of life yet. Yet. And yet, if this is losing, I believe winning should be an immaculate dream. It should be a life so much more than this present one. Something with meaning and purpose and fulfillment, a thing awashed in self-satisfaction. I should have the capacity to look back endearingly, but also down from that atmospheric pedestal. It's something that's been built upon, not abandoned. I won't try to find comfort in that euphemistic breakdown because, well, I haven't really defined it at all now have I? What wonder...
[time for work]
