Pride and Faith

Rolling with the punches, or the feigned blows, moreso. Action, and innaction, and the stalling of movement. Patience and cultivation, and then the time for reaping. The crop proved barren, the seeds, they bear no fruit.

And so it went. With a gentle puff from rosey warm cheeks, the house of cards crumpled on down. No casualties. Just a few minor bruises. A couple lumps on the head and in the throat.

Sometimes I think I'd rather strap myself to the rocket like a good little space monkey should.

It's really not a failure. More like a non-issue. A false start. A default. Yes, and this is what I will believe. This, it is the truth.

Bouncing back like a twenty-five cent superball is wrong. Valid heights beget valid depths. So into the valley I go.

Goodnight for now.

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