I was sat in a bar or a cafe or a library or whatever. It doesn’t matter. I remember the feeling. I could sense the danger, felt it in my bones, as one does. Was that all it was? A feeling, a sense? Feelings are often meaningless when they do not derive from any place of evidence. However, using logic on feelings, it doesn’t work. And there it was. Danger. Danger lurking, looming, seeping into my core- but is danger so different from passion? Why should one bring us joy and the other doom, regret, fear? Both drive us in some way, generally toward what we think is “The Better.” I am not afraid of danger. No, I know of danger. And I know keep it near my heart. I know it as a friend.
Image: “Au Charbonnage” Café, Vincent van Gogh.