Futile. Futile. Futile.
That is what I've heard relentlessly the past four months. And it is a lie: a total lie. I have purpose, and I intend to fulfill it.
The past four months have been a particularly perilous season in my life; it has been a time of confusion and clarity, impossible and improbable, smoke and mirrors, the effaceable and the inevitable. The past four days have been a culmination of all those things, a marvelous release of things cramped within so long one hardly knows how to utter them anymore. I had a tight-taught, chaotic mess of thoughts, so dense and so...