Which way, which way, which way to go!?

The thing about not being bound, is that one could potentially fly off in all manner of directions, You are Lighter-Than-Air. Little matters, as is bindings. You nearly want the weight. You nearly want to be eaten.

You nearly want the plotted out path and all of the arrows, and to be told where to go. But that is one things. The other, my road-mappers, is the checks, the eyes, the ones who add to you, when you've forgotten how to add to yourself.

That's what I've forgotten. How to fold myself up in myself and write around and around just out of me. I have had this trouble for nearly ten years now. Nine.

Well, nine is enough.

<<agé chose>>

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