Waves come and go. Wind blows forth and back. A pen both jots and erases. History is both written and forgotten. Books are read and others left hanging. For every traffic light there is an orange sign and thereafter a green to mean go. I have reached that, I have travelled through the mind’s maze and finally seen the light. I just miss writing here. Habits, I say. I hope not to run away this time round.
BITS BY BITS