Everything can be real if you want it to be. The doors of new can open with a pristine glint of stars falling on the borders of everything that could ever be. If only ever could be now. How do we make that happen? How do we acclimate the excited breaths of what could be to the tall standing colossal of the now? Now is a rock. Told by a narrator with surgeon like cuts of clarity. Now is crisp. Does it need to hold the energy of mystery? Is anything mysterious really that healthy at all? Or is mystery just the perfect slate of nothing to be able to project dreams onto? Dreams aren’t reality. Don’t wish. Do. Now is forever. The future is never. If you think of the future as something that’s attainable. Do what you need. Guessing the mystery is addicting. What do I need? Now? Health. I’ll rest.