were my brain not a puzzlebox, perhaps I would have grown tired of it's contents, taken them out and held them enough times that they bored me.
would I be motionless, like some perfectly held tension, the early morning surface of the lake before a leaf falls or a fish jumps.
If I had more time or less, or some idea of how much, would I feel calm? Would I stop turning and reviewing, would I clip along the ridges like a sail boat?
Shame really, this lack of appreciation, dull, no matter how the sun shines or sweet voices or the soft beds or the salt or the lemon or the sea.
