Shadows Waiting to Fade

Writing in the midst of my own personal chaos seems far easier than writing by the serenading sea’s.

Far from a warpath, more a form of temporary escapism from the now. A new path forward beckons, a leaf is turned.

The ink in the pen slowly depleting of its ability to write. How long will this last? Only the future holds such evidence.

But for now, there is now, and no one is promised tomorrow. It is all a big game of probability—and remember, the longer you play, the house eventually always wins.

We are nothing but shadows waiting to fade.