And then suddenly be taken aback by the clarity of your voice. By the life of its own that I didn’t expect. I guess I should’ve known but even now, when things are not as clear as they used to be --except for your voice-- I am astonished, in awe. Everything spins ever so constantly and the white sky is a blur that hangs oblivious of everything, everyone, of me. And your voice keeps coming on, calling, --not me, but someone else-- pleading. My senses are confused by the impetuous turning of events, and things. My eyes are tired of trying to understand the images that pass me by. My skin is numb. My tongue is dry. My nose, nowhere to be found. But not my ears. ‘Cause your voice keeps on coming clear, pure, untouched by the spinning world. And of all I regret that I will never understand. ‘Cause the message’s not for me. Not yet.