Print.

The man on the newspaper never lies. He says, it's going to be stressful, This Week, but in reality You and I both know it ain't that bad. I drink My Tea and we have a moment. It's a way to ground yourself. I guess that's what it is. It's not like that Tilted Smiley Moon Face Man truly knows me, but he's a writer and he's spreading The Joy TM so I like to make my eyes listen to him when I've got the time. Besides, he never lies. That's enough for now.

The "letter" hits my desk at 4am. It says it's sorry, and how only I understand. And maybe I do, but I don't feel Anything But Sadness. That all I am is a 4am confessional. A place to run to when everything has failed - or most likely, just Hit The Fan for the night. I think I'm more than that these days. I mean, you should see me in my suit. Besides, I've got enough on my plate. I don't want to be some girl's teddy bear, laying stuffed and vapid on a bed, waiting to comfort when the time for comfort hits, and tossed aside when the Real Thing TM works out how to say sorry with a plate of Hot Food or whatever. I'm Too Tired, Too Busy, Too Close to being Some Type of Happy. Sort your own insanity out. Or let The Twerp. Me? I'm just like everyone else. I'm in a maze, trying to find the lighthouse, and all you Climbers give me are bum steers. It's time to follow my own directions. They've never failed me in The Past. At least, not when I've Truly Listened.

And Home...well, hey, there's the pool to clean, and the cats to feed, and the bookshelf to refill, and there's Good Tucker TM and after I write, I'll sing Trucker's Laments and spend every spare moment worshipping The Witch who made this happen. She who will be gone in less than 6 days, off to Home herself in Paradise. And up there, there'll be a spare room for me if I ever want to visit, and Now, Here, there's a New Family, on top of the Ten, Twenty, Thirty I already have. Those hearts who never let up on me, those hearts who truly need mine as much as I need theirs. And not just at 4am. Family. And the humbling part is, when they lay eyes on me, they see someone worth knowing.

As I walked Home, a tired wreck, I looked down, as I always do.

And found:

beneath my feet. Beside my soles.

And then...

as Good Sailors do

I looked up. Just as the stars were leaning in. To mark their place in History. When Today became Tonight became Yesterday. Great sparkling witnesses, built of change itself. Moments long gone, which have yet to be fully appreciated. Tiny flickering specks which hide masses of flaming and freezing fire. These are the bright and brilliant contradictions which give the stars their magic. These are the Tralfalmadorian Vistas of Time - a Forever which Never Exists and which Forever Exists in Never.

It's enough to make a man sink, or blink
or maybe, baby,
wink.

The sky was red tonight.

That's what they'll say.

They'll say -

The sky was red that night.

And only I heard the words I spoke in return

only I was present

when that moment was born

when I left Time behind and

said,

Bring on The Dawn.