Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me. ~"New Moon" by Stephenie Meyer

Somehow, I haven't been able to get this quote out of my head. I wish my time could pass as slowly, though I do not envy the ache of poignant, lingering misery that goes a long with it. I need more time. There isn't enough of it to do all that I want, to say all that I wish, to keep company with those whose words and presence I miss, to please the people I so desire to please.

I'm working on a few written pieces sporadically these days. I may post them if I feel that they're finished and as good as they'll get. I've mostly been doodling and scribbling down things a few sentences at a time, so it may take a while. Other than that... I'll be around.