I'm writing this on my lunch at work. In the background people are talking and I can hear the ping of a microwave. It's hard making my thoughts solid enough to actualise in words. I feel like i'm on the cusp of discovering some great truth, somthing poigniant enough to give me the meaning i've been looking for. But like a butterfly it flutters incoherently beyond my reach and I am left stumbling after it. Transfixed by the beauty of something I can never possess, irides scorched by the brightness of the headlights as actualisation threatens to encompass me and then moves swiftly by into the night.