I am once again in most things, too often in too many words, words not even my own.
I am even in that which I cannot see or comprehend; and the simpler I become, the sooner and the more in things I will be.
I am not that much complicated as I am that much in simplicity; and as I stand as a man, not erect, but still, the miracles of things I can’t see, but feel, will come to be.
I fell a fall and fallen between what was right and what was the truth and there was nothing left but to turn to me so that I could see you. Turning to the left of me before the crossing cannot be right; and turning right without looking at you at the intersection surely there cannot be anything left.