Like a barrel going over Niagara Falls Like a hopeless romantic, head over heels

If all else fails, today I’m here to rise before the sun and catch a glimpse of the waning crescent moon before it sets. And if not that, I’m here to feel the hot water pouring down over my face, rinsing me clean and paving the way for something new.

My life is no longer the early-stage garden of hope, with its rich black loamy soil and precious little seedlings, all carefully watered and weeded and fertilized on a daily basis in rapturous anticipation of the bounty they would one day produce.