glimpses of poignant rumination, as a slow rock number about lying down on a bed of roses and longing resonates across the quietude of the cool night, the soundtrack to the great number of thoughts floating around like a blurry montage of images, some in soft focus, others crystal clear, but each a recent memory or a stirring emotion. a state of semi-slumber, induced perhaps by fatigue, it feels like an out of body experience, involuntary reflections of all and sundry, bringing about answers, which come out honestly, but doctored shortly after by personal inhibitions, which should sometimes be ignored.

that inner self, from which promptings come, including those yes-no decisions. sometimes it's a limiter, and sometimes you just feel like stabbing it with lots of steely knives and tell it to never come back, but other times it prevents you from doing anything you'd regret later.

a necessary inconvenience, sometimes.

but sometimes, just sometimes, it makes decisions that make you tell yourself you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.