Broken nights walk over me,
as I stare back into a vastness journey,
of every decision I made.
Where all my perceptions and values lead me,
along this path I saw as perfection.
And dream I did, for it was never about being OK.
But as I continue, what I would give to simmer in the warmth of normality.
To savor in the moments and futility of normalness.
For maybe life isn’t meant to be a novel and story to write:
But simply a story to read and finish.
And for that, I wonder.