Joy of Movement

There are things I regret in a world where I have few regrets.

Its complicated doesn't describe my life.  Maybe things are so simple they are overlooked.
I complicate simple.  That very well could make me a prick.
Let me break your spirit.
I am breakable, too, and I break for smaller things.  Maybe I'm much more shattered than I thought at the beginning of this walk.  Maybe my rusty heart is exposed, the oxidation breaking me down to less than when it began.

I am an oxidized hole.
I am not a complete thought but a continuously churning and morphing cloud of conscious and unconscious.  I move in this space and in between this space and walk a waking dream and nightmare, choosing and cheating sleep and my waking world.

Time is a jerk, yet is our gift.  The dwindling of moments is our happiness because it makes the previous moment all the more precious.  We are so exhausted and one day, we will lay our head down for the last time.  We will wake for the last time.  We will speak for the last time.
One day.
It all ends.