Some Days a Fallen Insect Greets Me in its Wake: Meditations and Poems

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Depression’s cloak has lifted, just enough for a glance at the unforeseen. This future beyond today. Survival is a short-term thing. Each breath matters, one at a time.

Papers pile up around me. Dusty objects, refuse from a past life once lived litter my surroundings. Down a narrow valley in the middle of my desk, I write.

A trickle of consciousness takes hold. Crawling then learning to walk again. Developing a new perspective, if paper thin.

The musings of a man’s journey through anxiety, phobias, and his ultimate recovery through love.