I have traversed my timeline, went by
many days marked with an X, for a target, a destination, towards an end. Or so I thought.
But just as time never changes its pace, so
too the mind keeps on thinking, shifting, creating and dreaming, to which my
hand responds by reaching out to scribble over the X I’d marked as I stretch
towards a new destination, a little bit further along this line.
Now after 600 months torn off and discarded,
I hope I never reach the end, I hope I never cease to scribble in my notebook
of madness and dreams, as that would mean I can no longer see, I can no longer
feel, it would mean I’ve run out… and that, I believe, is where my timeline ends.