I’m melting. Each day I struggle to re-assemble myself amide the heat and the rain. Sometimes I am successful. The pieces of me are grafted back together and no one is the wiser. Sometimes not so much. And I am only vaguely aware of what has been lost. Either way, the process will go on. Screaming to the silence. My world in disarray. I wonder if all lives deteriorate in similar fashion? If maybe my demise is just a consequence of aging? If the myth of uniqueness is the final aspect of personality to slip through metaphorically arthritic fingers? Genius no more. Genius never was. Having written that I am as whole as I can get tonight. Maybe I will sleep now.
