wind out of my sail, it's all gone, it's the opposite, what happens, it's the opposite of gaining a spring in your step, but it's there, when the rug goes out from under you, when the ground you thought you had walked, the steps you had taken, the distance covered, really isn't very far at all, and the heart feels a little less, whole i guess, but the pitter patters, the pauses, the sad and forlorn looks on faces, the day drags, the hours pass, but always much too slowly, for the passage of time is never as quick as it should be, at least to me, and the world keeps spinning, if too slowly, even for me.