When most things don't matter, then comes one that does.
Those smooth seas never prepared you for it, and your boat goes erratic; crashing into a barnacled rock, planks flying wayward after, shooting splinters in the air.
And you sit there, wondering. Heart falling into your stomach, and sorrow, or its possibility, fill up the chalice of your soul. The fear that brings thee contentment is a false friend.
Maybe it is time, to sail in the rough sea.
(...besides, is it not insanity to do the same things
...and yet expecting a different result?)