A veiled irony, how true inspiration so rarely comes from within. Or if it does, it is so personal, it almost qualifies as selfishness.

Happenchance sparks with no matter who, waiting for love to arrive. To anyone, here I am, longing, as long as I am alive.

I will remember where the dark used to be. I remember what it looked like. What it felt like, what it did to me, what it did to others. And I will keep the light on.

It is the present now and at noon yesterday, it was the present then. When noon tomorrow arrives, it will also be the present. The present is all there is.

Silver starlight blankets the cool night. Our eyes reflecting something, suspecting, could it be this is love?

Weakness is to take a knee, fear I will not succeed. If I can choose destiny and move, then I am freed.

I close my eyes and inhale gently. Entranced, yet acutely aware of my role here, an indelible, wonderful part of something inestimably greater than myself.

Your approach could be day by day and you may concede that you will decide to ignore your own plan at times. Because you are admittedly flawed. Human after all.

What is the meaning of life? To live.