The first time I had biscuits and gravy was in a diner.  Not the most cleanly of places but apparently with low standards I enjoy it enough.  Well-worn places fit me quite nicely.

I want to know when I’ve become the person that I am, if I’ve always been her. This person that notices even the slightest twinge in another human beings’ demeanor but has become so apathetic towards her own soul. I have to stretch myself so far to feel.  Physically far to be emotionally near. And it makes me think of the mushy combination of biscuits and gravy, something that truly shouldn’t go well together, a deeply unappetizing appearance, yet somehow such a delicious combination.

And why questions deepen and grow, become all there is. The food I eat, the water I drink.  The sun stops warming me and all I want, all I see are fists that are battling time. A simple concept. An unbroken vow of movement.  A human condition.