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. 

So there.

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. 

But, no. 

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. 

Disposition? Nope.

A spell? Voodoo curse? Witchcraft? For goodness sake.

It just is. 

For no reason whatsoever.