There is no escape. The words cannot be severed. They find release through one medium or another. Time is my biggest enemy. The race is beyond marathons standards. Disjointed like a poorly pruned apple tree -still bears fruit. Some bitter. Some sweet. Ramblings and fragmented sentences, find the path of least resistance sooner or later. In a world of so many failures and disappointments, silence is the only loser. Losers are dead.

Thank you Monty for not being dead yet.

Waiting

Maybe. Perhaps. Whisperings in the wind.