The horizon of my life has become dim and grey with no end in sight. A storm has wreaked havoc on my shore and I am caught in its wake. Its whirlwind remains spinning page after page in my direction, and I cannot escape by taking flight. With downpours of ebony ink and subtle highlighted rays in yellows, oranges, and blues; it has outlined that path I must choose. I move from one line to another, from one page to the other. Still, the tasks are stacked, and I am flooded. In this sea of paper slowly rising over me, I swim between the spaces and gaps. Soon I am floating, my hands and arms tired of turning as the waves continue churning. And I'm searching for a buoy or liferaft, something to rescue or, at least, sustain me. However, I can see clearly that there are no bookmarks or notes in sight. No outstretched hands atop a hardcover searching for another. I am lost at sea. I am on the verge of sinking and all I am thinking is that my conclusion is at the end of a sentence: a period, a closing, an end.