For D

maybe that was love. that excitation spreading in all directions into our world like an avalanche, ever expanding in territory and then - shutting off from exhausting. 

maybe it was a story. not a self-consistent theory but a narrative that converged towards an ideal view, an ever increasing ocean of incompatible alternatives, each a single theory, each a fairy tale, each myth that is part of a collection forcing us into greater articulation. 

maybe it was just small wings of my wishes, taken by the wind on a spring day.