"rare is the novelist who doesn't claim characters who 'take on a life of their own'; artists are rather fond of confessing that their paintings take over and paint themselves; and poets humbly submit that they are servants or even slaves to the ideas that teem in their heads, not the bosses."
i've grown to hate where my mind might wander, as it looks for reason and rational behind action and/or inaction. i've kept awake at night, with mind searching, asking, grasping and yearning for answers that always seem just out of reach. there are gems... my mind uncovers, enlightens, and even rejoices in the process (at times), but, as of late, i've been fighting that process...
perhaps i should fight no longer.
letting it go.