Found somewhere on the web.
Darkness. Waiting for the storm to hit. All that remains is ashes. In the end, it does not matter as what we started. In the end, all that matters is how we arrived, how we survived. Let someone else pick up the pieces, the puzzle, the patchwork of words and shattered dreams. At one point, the road will turn to dust under our feet.

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Song of the Hour Colorblind

I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am taffy stuck and tongue tied
Stutter shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folden and unfolded and unfolding
I am colcorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine

Lyrics by The Counting Crows

~~[ One ]~~
There it was, the river. Old, smoothly flowing as it had been for centuries, for times not meant to be measured by the human mind. Defining the border between the land there and the land here, it passed by the gate and its solitary keeper, trailing away to finally vanish between the rocky, gray faces of the mountains in the north. I stood on the river's edge, listening to the sounds of water against stone, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt truly at peace. What lay behind me was nothing but a bad dream; what came now could not scare me. Could not frighten me away.

I was home.
~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Staring at the screen at 04:29 a.m.;Friday, November 2, 2001