The Morph of His
Late Tuesday night and you are waiting for the bus. It is your first time experiencing winter of this magnitude. You wonder when the bus will come, and immediately a bell is rung: yes, that article I just read. When will joy come?
It reminds you of the continuities of what appears as struggle, yet you can’t fully grasp its nature. In the article, they mention something along the lines of solace and retreat as a resolution. You pause and think for a minute. There you go — others have done it. You are reminded of yet another one, Philomena Steady, although her radicalness feels too radical. And in a similar fashion, you settle for the warmth of Kerugo Macharia’s On Quitting.
But wait — he doesn’t actually quit in the plain sense of the word. He evolves. He realizes. He sees. And with this seeing comes the unsettling; with this unsettling comes the leaving; and in this leaving, he finds joy — or so it seems.
You conclude, as you catch sight of the bus:
he has morphed.
Introduction 
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