1: Scribble

I do not know what happened, or to what I owe it to. Suddenly I was smiling and skipping.

I was not writing. I had forgotten how much words could  move me. I had forgotten how much power these letters had over me. I had forgotten how much I wanted to be able to affect.

I found you, a muse, an inspiration, an embodiment of what I had almost left behind. Thank you.

Remember what I'm to do now.

It is life in slow motion,

it's the heart in reverse,

it's a hope-and-a-half:

too much and too little at once.

It's a train that suddenly

stops with no station around,

and we can hear the cricket,

and, leaning out the carriage

door, we vainly contemplate

a wind we feel that stirs

the blooming meadows, the meadows

made imaginary by this stop.

The Wait, Rilke