Written off.

The days ahead seem to be strung together unevenly like pearl-white beads and mud-brown grains being hung ungracefully over the slender neck of a ten-year-old; cautious and uncertain, some parts up and the others down. But once the string that holds them all together breaks, nothing hardly matters, rendering all wants and needs useless.

No one would know what comes five minutes after the clock strikes one on another Wednesday afternoon, or if tomorrow’s cloud formations would include that akin to a beaver furrowing its brows, deep in thought at envisioning the design and location of its new lodge.

I wish I could be as strong as you are in seizing every waking moment of your life; in grasping each and every detail in all hours of the day; in making every ticking second, yours and yours truly.

So, hello there. Have I ever known you well or at all, my dear friend?