The stillness in my mind is not real. I can feel the storm already in the quiet. How does one organize a beach full of sand? That's how it feels trying to convey what I'm feeling, who I am, what I need to say or express. The visual stop sign in my head. Chasing perfection, wanting to only create a worthy product. I need to stop processing, stop rearranging, stop hoping for the right thing. I am the right thing. I am the right thing this very moment. I can't stop for perfection's cold determination. It is impossible, it is useless. So is worry. What is worrying's purpose? Why does it infect the beautiful life I was given? I see through the eyes of understanding, of empathy, of what is beautiful in everything, even the darkness. I deeply want to enjoy that gift's bounty. Worry is something I need to stop worrying about.