So carry on

Too many things are coming to shuddering halt after spinning chaotically for nearly half a decade and in the face of this overwhelming stillness settling in heavy slates within me, I hear the quiet whisper of nostalgia.

It is a weak longing for poison, for the racing of pulse and spinning of mind and hammering of heart that have sustained my being for longer than I can afford to forget. 

I look back to hear the ghost of experience sing a soothing solace: permission to carry on. 

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