Waste

Nostalgia is now more a fact than a phenomenon. Everything prior to this was everything worth having. Lack of new terrain gives past experiences splashes of colour and a vibrance that probably wasn't there when they were being lived.

This time will be remembered with love, no doubt. But the moments of reminiscence are too many and too close in between to facilitate appreciation of the present. The grey fog that has permanently set here lifts only at external recognition. There is no longer a striving force; there is but existence, unknowingly directed by others.

When is there ever going to be something bigger to reach for? Unabridged joy at largely insignificant moments - is it enough to create a significant whole?

This is brittle; that is obvious. When a certain point of recurring distance is reached, realisation sets - there is not enough, not enough activity to occupy all faculties. Nowhere to whole-heartedly direct potential or attention or skill. Bide time, sit in lethargy; disabled, disconnected, disassociated.

Too little for too much.