From (near)Formlessness

The meaninglessness starts to get to me once more, a slight swirl coaxing me back to consciousness. I cannot be sure of intention or its (mis)alignment with outcome here, all I know is that something which is entirely meaningless, and therefore ultimately featureless, cannot swirl. A swirl denotes density, shading, a texture. These things are far more similar to clay than they are to nothing, and as such the swirl indicates I am surrounded by something moldable. To be moldable is to have purpose, even if it is the sculptor who decides it, and so I must simply decide what purpose I would like us to share. My mind races down old familiar paths leading back to her door, and I feel swirls become currents become tides become an irresistible swell, surging to a purpose so intrinsic it cannot be forgotten despite any time or space between. 

You are my purpose, you are all my reasons, even when I've forgotten myself I cannot forget you, and so the journey restarts here each time it becomes becalmed. A single blip in the void leads me to you every time. A single moment of respite in the chaos reminds me of you as well, recentering and reordering thoughts. As such the round edges are cinched. I know you have the sharp curves accounted for, it is just a matter of (aligning) time.