Something is wrong. I’m not sure what, but I need to do something about it. I work out more, eat less gluten, put the phone away, meditate, take more walks, eat less sugar, do a tarot reading, search my soul. I don’t know exactly what is missing, but I long to never need anything again. My desire is difficult to articulate. Words are not enough; they are always an approximation. Sometimes the body knows more. I walk far in solitude, find a rhythm. My thoughts meander like roots. I fantasise about dissolving, about becoming one with something larger. The eyes see, the hands find, a knife follows a shape. Failed attempts to repair what’s broken, resurrect something dead, reverse time. I fall asleep and wake up among those who have seen ten of my lifetimes or more. I feel insignificant. Time is all there is, my inadequacy is all I have.