Happy Sunday friends! I post yet again this extremely fruitful January! I must say, I’m not quite sure why I’ve been writing so much lately…in the words of Lin Manuel Miranda…”Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” I know not. But I do like writing, and maybe lately I have rediscovered the pleasure and comfort it brings to put thoughts and emotions to page such as this. Not of course, that I put everything on here…far be that from me! But right now, it is comforting to let the words flow from thought through fingers to screen. Would that I could write something a bit more…beautiful. But for now, I shall simply write. Before I started this, I’ve been in a bit of a nostalgic mood…looking at some old high school friend’s journals – which are still online, shock! Hi Maggie!! *waves* Anyways, nostalgia diving can be dangerous – indeed, dark and full of terrors and all that. But this afternoon, while I have the bitter feeling of friendships lost and far away…I still have the sweet taste of the memories I had with these friends. And that is something I have been blessed with that shall never leave me. Ah bittersweet. And of course, I am reminded as I sit here that it is not entirely profitable to focus over much on the past. Let these thoughts and memories not drag me far away and distract my energies from life now, in the present. It is a dangerous game – to turn inward to the extent of losing our true joy. Now, I start to wax philosophical. See, this is why I should not write as much as I am – I dare expose my thoughts to the light of day, and what shall they say? That I am a hollow man, full of loose dreams and ill-begotten schemes? Even so. I long for the day when I shall be in that far country. No longer be a-ranging in a stranger land. And so, to dream is not so wrong. Only wrong is it when these dreams are forged of rotten beams – cloying words, sickly sweet in all their pomposity and self-important grandeur. Hiding behind a veil of false humility, oh forgive me!

But let us dream of purer things, of that road that goes ever on. The scent of jasmine, that light breeze upon the cheek. The song that rings true upon the soul, a knowledge of the veil now torn. To dream is not so wrong.