Nearly always, actually always, I find a way, I discover a route to permeate the ether with my need to continue with the rise and fall of the heart, the mind, the soul; those cognitive and non-cognitive processes which allow me to make, and then celebrate a connection to what perhaps would be safer, or wiser, or _ _ _ _ left unexplained.
Yet that I discard the inner and the outer voices which beg me, which incite me, which indulge me to let go; but no, hanging on is the obsession, and just as the mountain climber (though I am no mountain climber) I hang on as if it is for my very life, which of course is exactly what it is; obsession or no.
