I'm tired of possibility and in dire want of the real thing. But the absence of possibility is also a dormant possibility of possibility. And its presence in the thick of things always signals bigger possibilities. Perhaps this 'bigness' and 'thickness' is what I'm after. For small pleasures in my everyday life are only creating room for greater ones. And these small joys are so fickle. They leave my heart craving for more.
My fortune for the day says: "The heart is wiser than the intellect".