Standing by the window after midnight, waiting.
For my mind to calm down.
Just listen: how still it all is, moonlit night, not a breeze, glittering layer of frost.
I no longer dwell much on the why me.
So obviously futile.
Asking why me is like asking why not me.
But a lot of time and energy has been wasted on why and how.
There are times when I'd love a culprit, something to blame, wrong diet, bad habits, drugs, drink, fags, that sort of stuff, having lived too fast and too wild etc.
Even if I did, it makes no difference.
Congenital, genetic, hereditary: empty phrases, even once you figure out what they mean and how to differentiate between them.
A spell? Voodoo curse? Witchcraft? For goodness sake.
It just is.
For no reason whatsoever.