The more time passes, the more I see.

That my lows can be eclipsed by my presence.

And that my presence is all that I need.

That everything does seem to happen in some divine way.

Even if I’ve had to struggle to realise it.

It couldn’t have been realised otherwise.

Is this the process?

No shortcuts.

The truth has only one path.

An infinite number of ways to travel.

Unique to every one of us.

We flutter along, in our own windows of time.

Windows that align more than we think.

Our ability to gaze through our own, and into another, evolving over time, and again.

The gap between beauty and pain narrowing, gradually.

Enveloping each other, a gap that closes in on the present.

And in that presence, everything becomes.

I become something.

And that something, whatever it is, is all I desire.

And all that others desire from me.