As all the dust agitated by change and movement settles, I, too, settle into a tranquil flow. People around me come and go, viewing only very briefly and slightly their thin reflections on my surface. They stand around to gaze and absorb what little fascination a reflection may offer. I'm excited by their presence, by their proximity, but I always stay close to the silent delicacy that my life observes through repetition. My interactions with them are sudden staccatos. I begin to relish in the act of self-reflection: I close my eyes and peel away the layers of the universe until I'm free from the confines of the flesh, spirit, and soul. I contemplate the placement of stars, the color of trees, and clouds, the beauty of others. I open my mind to leave the confines of this world and explore the depths of my imagination. I fish out words to describe my morality, but they're often sloppy and chaotic. The familiar loneliness of this contemplative life weighs heavily and stubbornly on my soul. I want to know to what capacity I am a rational being, to inquire as to the depth of my morality, but, during these exercises, while I wake up with blue flowers in my hand, I hope to, one day, give them to someone important.

What a life!