I am in a quiet little suffering here, and I believe I will have a small pause while I am in it, a bit of patience. I am sure I will learn something, or something. It only hurts when I think about it, a self fulfilling blues, but I know not the philosophical or psychological implications of such a phenomenon. A light aching of the heart, a subconscious consideration of what might have been, and a sad wondering at how the gears of fate may turn…. I am a little lost, and I am a little found, and the pulling between the two is as a slow tear at the fabric of my soul — no, not even a tear, a tautening that plays at being ripped, but doesn’t quite. Now, sometimes I wait for the purpose of things to reveal themselves, but then, otherwhiles, I imagine that the purpose is merely to question things, and to wait, and endure the small, slow pains. Not all is grand, I think, for are there not tiny wheels that work in the machinery of destiny, too?