An inkling of a hint of an idea has graduated from just that: a fuzzy notion, like outlines of something in the distant mist, to a more solid thought. Out of the woodwork tiny coincidences creep… and crawl, and slither like nighttime creatures do in a bedtime story, until they come together and grow and take shape. Until?
Until finally, my conscious self has been hit over the head with a force so strong it makes my chest ache. My beating heart rattles in my rib cage. Shaken from the impact, she dusts herself off, waves a clenched fist in the upward direction of where that lump of gray mass lies.
The brain has caught up to the heart.