More of the same, but with a lesser body. So worse. But then, the understanding. What was once considered important is now irrelevant. A beauty is seen in the experiences. In being. And that, surely, is much better. Worse for all the things I have missed. The past speckled with beauty, unappreciated, out of reach. Yet, better for caring less. For trusting myself, carefully. For courage? But wretched the mind, who wants the best of both.