What did you do with my callousness? Did you claim it to recycle it?
My conviction in the disutility of emotional attachment, it is broken and battered and sneering at me from my dusty attic.
Unfulfilled ambitions have sprung back to life, newly whetted and whipped. Now they know not their way back home.
My perfected mechanism of loose knots, measured distance and algebraic control suddenly stopped functioning. I have no tools to mend it, no oil will grease it back to motion.
Anger is snoozing in the stands, patience is keeping goal.
My sharp tongue is losing its acridity. Words have lost their sting. Ego has gone into indefinite hibernation.
In many little ways, in arguably good ways, I don't recognize myself. Pray, tell me now, how should I feel anything but fear of this unsettling unknown?
