Intensity

Life is hard. There always seems to be a challenge on the table -- a dream that is dying -- or a memory that won't fade.

The spirit burns, fueled by all these twigs, these droppings that feel so important in an instant and so ephemeral in the long run.

I suppose that is why I live in the moment as much as possible. 

The intensity of living takes every breath I have. It leaks over into the night and replays the reality in experiences even I couldn't dream up.

There is no respite -- no escape -- no turning back.

Hope flutters before me like a willow wisp in the wind and I chase after it, giggling, because what else is there to do?