"If only..." is a thing that takes up my thoughts these days.
It's a hopeful situation I pine for.
I add new details every day.
I contribute to this projected ideal based on outdated information.
My mind is a microfiche. My reality has been fragmented.
To emerge from this shroud of bliss would be a withdrawl from my progress.
And yet I withdraw six days out of the week. I recollect, and draw upon outdated information. And time inches along slowly. A new day comes, unlike the other six, when that information is transformed into something visceral and pulsating, as I live moment-to-moment ready to pen any possible change or fluctuation to my story of a hopeful situation.