Wondering how I can iron out the wrinkles in my uneasy demeanour, knowing that I may have said too much. But there was never going to be a right time, not a right format or warning overture to steer the senses to a better understanding of events, though hidden, still very present. Strongly so.  I am a jumble of emotions and misunderstandings not least because I chose to say what I felt, to traverse the deep cavern below disappearing into a rushing river of deep-seated sentiment, too far below the usual skin of awareness that dresses this light with a translucency that reveals only partial things, distorted blurred images of something we may recognise but too unmanifest and unspoken to be identified. I feel like the victim of my own refusal; my inability to make real what my heart desires. Did I misplace my intent, and replace it with luck…