my heart is heavy tonight, it has been heavy for some days.

i’ve thought through various inadequacies, doubted myself in capacities as they came to mind or were brought to me. i’ve faced my own halting words that brought to attention only my confusion, and groped stumblingly for a defence that would not, did not come.

i bethink myself, in all my failures, limitations and flaws: i am weak, in so many senses. i stammer when called to give account for the reason i work. i cannot make my brother love me.

time and distance, time and distance. when hope takes residence i feel ready for everything and seem to already see the fruition of  labours. when my steps are heavier, i still remember hope, i still keep the faith, but i hold despair in my heart too. what if you fail, or i do, and what we have proves false in the end?

i shall leave lettered thoughts for pictures in my head. what difference is it to me whether i think upon white space or upon my bed, when no resolution is in sight. the lips that laugh and the eyes that crinkle in the day are shadows compared to the affairs of the head and the heart in the nights that have come, even if day is said to be where men wake. i could be madder at night alternating my immersions between kipling’s india and my own despairing reflections, but. i would be with them.