Maybe maturity is the realization that there's less things that we are in control of, really — the day of tomorrow builds up upon what was laid down today, the thoughts of now are in sequence of the moment immediately preceding (zoom in as much as one possibly can).

I am not so tired, today, or right now; the Sun has been returning, days are longer — there even was snow! — but now, the Sun, returning, the days, longer.

Being in tune with the necessities is a sort of gift to an extended notion of ourselves; a sort of virtuousity? Of course, I would rather be sleeping, but here I am — ideas pointed towards nothing but outwards, as this is my attempt at widening my circle, letting more in, why not? Virtue, but also grace.