Send Me A Postcard When You Reach The Peak, Sisyphus

Clarity hit me on my way home, half drunk of laughter, intoxicants and the tender fondness of proverbial friendships. Consequently, apologies will be dispensed sparingly. I’m fatigued, crestfallen, and three measly breaths from sliding into jadedness. Optimism occupies my mornings yet I do not neglect the constellations of emptiness swirling at the far corners of my eyelids where disenchantment dwells. They both populate a genteel place in the infinite, enigmatic terrains of human heart. Such is our private curse to bear.