you were still sitting there when the smoke cleared
2004-03-12 & 3:45 a.m.

We all look a little older. There is no longer the padding of years between dreams and action. There are tickets to buy now instead of only fields to dream about. We linger a little longer; we say more of what's on our mind. There is no time to waste these days. We steal glimpses once in a while, lock eyes a little longer than we should, brush up against one another a bit too often. We have all broken more than we ever admit, but with each break, we fling more pieces of ourselves around the world. And finally, when we all wake up, we will see those pieces, floating by our window, out to sea.

How strange it is to move on. To leave behind. To forge ahead. It means I do not fall asleep to your breathing. It means the next time I am on a train in Morocco, I will not be writing you. It means, this is my road, gravel and all.