I look down,
it is shattered across the floor.

I do not know how long it has been there,
but I know I'm trying to pick up the pieces,
I am trying to remember how it goes back
together.

I have visions and ideas that flit across
my eyes, run through my mind, but I do not
trust what I see. Why? When have I come
to doubt something that would so easily come to
me, like catching a ball a child throws my way?

The pieces seem odd and foreign; yet, they
lead me of their own accord and begin to meld
back. Oh, there's another one, I better grab it
before it gets away.

There are less pieces on the floor, I must have
picked some up, I can't remember. I don't know
how long I've been doing this.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Scarlatan, in the year 357 AF.