Yet, good. Hello, oh Nine.

...and a few face slaps later I am again reminded how fragile "good" is. Good. That simple, simple word which was used to describe the creation of the world. Good.

How I had let the good I believed in become trampled upon by the lows of life. How purpose seemed fleeting- aggravating boredom into depression. Yet there was beauty in floods heading towards my city. Yet you surrounded me with opportunity to wipe the dirt from beautiful faces, as to learn that beauty was not always clean. Yet I turned from light, buried myself into The Deep until I could no longer release myself at will, but retreated simply because the weight fell that way, downwards. I had little energy and/or motivation to let be any other way.

But wait! I began this with the hope I might enlighten you. I'm not sure how it happened. Actually, most of these things I might (in any other life) shun and call "misfortune" have fallen with a thud upon my way, causing my eyes to lift to alternate means of progressing forward.

and then

I looked up and let the light meet me. I looked up and realised I had missed the sun on my face. I looked up and let my eyes connect that wonderful green kaleidoscope that laughed down the occasional leaf, from it's height of something extraordinary!

I realised, the up looked amazingly better than dirt down. That watching where my feet fell with caution, was really quite exhausting.

I gazed over my shoulder a little way back, and somehow the path I had just travelled was not the one I remembered, and I wondered in bubbles how I missed all that beauty. Suddenly colour was reintroduced to my dear despairing pupils and I don't remember the rest.

So onward marching, gawking at how ridiculously good-looking these new glasses makes everything appear. I insist you walk with me! Even before me! Because I swear you're suddenly looking more beautiful than my last recollection of you!

Dear Love, thank you.
You never lost me, you never dropped me, you always had me.
This clock seems darker, yet everything is made beautiful in its time.
Dear Love, apparently it is always your time!