Life is short, and so is our fiction. One morning I wake up to find my living room replaced by an ocean. I stand in the doorway, look over the gray, clamoring waves. They stretch as far as the eye can see. The Amoeba Who Wanted to be Alone by Stephen McFadden. The Rascally Rabbit by Kim Magowan.

Free-verse poetry from the soul. Many hurdles to navigate through. A marathon runner every day. Getting better with each passing day. Day in and day out. I pray for the same thing. By His stripes I am healed. And day in and day out.

Alone I walk the promenade, the winter sea waves crashing into the wall. And I am showered by graceful drops of salted water bubbles, gently. I hum my unfinished music, my own requiem, trying to find the notes. To finish what I believe is musical magic, for it must be finished soon. It must be finished before it is too late; I would like them to hear it. All of it, as I had intended, for in it is who I am, who I was, who, who.

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