the week

the sun sets on a week that began with no origin. it was a lost soul returning to its roots to establish some sense of self that had not eluded its consciousness, but simply had just not been there. if you spend your life looking out, then you can forget to look in. no exquisite epiphany lit the way and suddenly cast truth on cobwebbed corners of existence. life is not a movie. there was no happy ending to satisfy the audience (or the protagonist). there was the recognition of a journey that hitherto had been unscheduled, this journey of self introspection. the past is written, the future remains. not knowing who i have been quails beneath the import of defining and knowing who i will be.