بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

sometimes the mind stutters, trying its hardest to close its eye and find meaning no more in all the clutter, then my Gift reminds me what sustenance in this life is composed of, someone who calls us to love and being better, not dissimilar from what otherworldly beacons would be considered as. if only this existence was truly a loop then this futile plan may have worked, thankfully it didn't, so He keeps me forward trudging, each day like a step in quicksand pulling down second by second, though some moments shine like lamps without electrical cords or outlets. these fingers can't stop writing, just as my Rabb wills these lungs to keep on filling, pulling in oxygen so cells have something to run with, organ to organ, life made able and continuing. someone calling for me now, someone calling me to Then, and so it is to find them both that i still live.