You may think I am poetrying, but I am prosing when I say I was happy for a while on borrowed happiness. Poetry actually can be entrusted with what this prose is engaged in at the moment. The term expired and happiness ceased to come on the pipe like your broadband connection going dead when you default on the bill. (Machines have no kiths and kins and they know no excuse☺.) I every now and then insert my long tongue into the hole where happiness used to come from but I think some termites have built up their skyscrappers colony in the darkness–I feel sharp twinges every time my tongue goes licking into that hole. The other day I put on a tongue-helmet, but my tongue was blind in that. Still the termites did their toothwork impressively well–it was more dangerous because I could not even scratch the pain away.
The whole thing was fast like a superfast sprinter bulletting off a one hundred meter stretch before your eyes have time to get back to the stopwatch in your hand. I think I should have been a Buddha. Life is a short path. Walking faster finishes it of sooner. A short way, if you love it, is best walked slowly–in slow motion, relishing every proton, neutron and electron of it. Walking fast, you miss most of it.
Now that the walk is over, I need to treat my termite wounds. My stupid tongue has put on a thimble on and it has learnt some things bite.☺