Where do I start? I usually don’t try, I don’t make it. It never ends because it never begins. Usually becomes consistently, and now it is always. Always. I don’t write, and I always ask Why?

I am whole, person disconsolate, on the verge of (I don’t know) tears, grief, change? yet safe. I found a monument at the end of space, and though I know not where I really am,
I feel just fine.