...stumbling blindly through sun scorched days and star struck nights. Over snow covered hills and grass filled fields. Feeling, not in the traditional sense that someone feels happiness or feels pain, but in a much deeper rooted sensation that is next to impossible to describe.
     This feeling, sensation, tingling in my fingertips, butterflies in my stomach, is my fuel. It is my drive and my direction. It is the very air that I breathe.
     I cough, sputter, curse the foul fumes that now fill my lungs and seep into my blood. Breathe out. Remember to breathe. Of course I remember, how could I forget? I hum the tune just in case. Always remember.
     Left foot, right foot. I manage to begin stumbling again, for it is the method of locomotion most appropriate for such an unsavory fool. Appropriate, because I have earned it through foolish attempts of kindness. With the best intentions, I always said.
     The golden orb now falls to rest over the tree dotted horizon to my left, as the nightingales welcome the silvery shroud of the summer sky. As the stars begin to dot the sky, I begin to count. One. Two. Three. How much longer? Thirty-five. Thirty-six. They’re beautiful really, so pretty. Two-hundred-fifty-eight. Star two-hundred-fifty-nine sends me into my slumber.
     Eyes shut, but I can’t sleep. Wide-eyed. Arcs of brilliant white hot light tear voraciously through the pin holed indigo canvas. The sky juice begins to ease the swollen stress of these depraved lands, and me, their sole proprietor.
     What an honor it is to walk this path. Love is a strange and wondrous thing, all you need is love. I hope my thoughts ring true, because they are all I have to give.