We all start somewhere...

My somewhere is a floating zepplin caught in the eve of a dawn of darkness yet to come to fruition on the edge of a slim and sleek mirror that only reflects what is happening always five seconds slower than now, and I don't think I'll peek over that edge.

I'm not afraid nor disinterested, I'm choosing not to. I think it an adventure I feel I've already done and don't need to relive, not because I don't regret, but because I choose not to. I sit on the precipice to something beautiful and encompassing like fog or the shroud of a bridge as you pass beneath it in the middle of the afternoon, as though you miss the sun yet dread the return of it as you exit out of the other side of the tunnel; but instead I'm waiting for the beautiful and encompassing sensory overload to cross the precipice to find me, staring at its cue and mark to welcome it.

This somewhere is worth it. I drift from it and to it constantly. It's like feeling something new yet familiar but it feels like it fills me with a deepness that's empty of void and full of infinity. As if good as a word and description fades as I reach higher for a grip on a grasp to hold onto the new state of euphoric transcending bliss.