There was an art to insanity: as though I were but a kite in the wind, no solid ground beneath me, and only a thin, questionable tether anchoring me to reality, everything came and went in a blur.

It was peaceful, a place where no worries managed to reach. It was drifting through time with only the faintest recollection of memories, snippets from the past, but they all seemed out of order, and so far away that worry wasn't even an entertained thought.

It was . . .

It would have been . . .

It would have been perfect if not for the nagging sense of urgency that ate...