I once heard tomorrow will be the start of the rest of your life... but how can this advice be when we don't have a concept of time?

Like with everything, truly, where is or was the start and how much more is the rest?

There's a preconceived idea within a modern spiritualistic outlook that when being told a piece of bad news, you can fall into the fog, fast.

A grey cloud can then set above your place of comfort and then expose rain, erupt with thunder, dry up the ground you've been walking on, you know, the ground beneath your very own feet.

You see, you begin to care less about the finer details around you as the scaffolding falls down. You don't notice the seasons, you don't really exhume anything but the buried old bones.

You try then to piece them together to form some sort of a new body, a stronger body but the foundation of white calcium phosphate and the formation of a newly reincarnated ‘you' just ends up looking in the mirror once again, staring into the darkness of reflection, you know, trying your best to understand it.

You re-question your reactions; you re-order books about romance and psychology. You begin to attempt another one of your journeys for enlightenment but you slowly come to realise it contains nothing but a requisition for another broken heart... but there is a light.

It's called reality. It's called acceptance and it's called life.

I started my story years ago. I suppose I carried a cold shudder inside of me which had formed into an empty acceptance that I am alone, always shall be and I'm only gonna be safe if I can only take care of myself, by any means necessary but, I could still love as can we all.

We can still give the one part of ourselves that makes us ‘US’, to any stranger we meet or trust, but we, we must be ready. You, you must be prepared: thieves DO exist in this world.

They can momentarily take it but you can replace it with song. You can replace it with art. You can leave your mark on your existence, you know? I live in song. I choose to live in song.

OK, OK, I admit, you know, the rest of the time I live in some form of non-emotional nirvana; an opposing universe I never asked to be invited to, but maybe, maybe tomorrow will come. Maybe I will find the chance to start again. Maybe they were right, actually: maybe it will be the start of the rest of my life.

This can be it, this will be it, this shall be it.

Yep, I'm ready.