Low energy. It's more than a passing thing. It's an illness. I'm sick.

Give it more than a cursory glance, the value of an ideal is not in compromise, but in promise. Promise of things better still. I'm still waiting.

I get the feeling I should be reaching beyond my circumstances, but this is no time to press the issue. It's no time to turn a blind eye or a deaf ear. So what now?

For thoughts less liberated, this is my independence. Wanting no more exclusion, standing by for the realization that always seems to move so slowly.

I've got to move.