Revisited

Another late night, 4 a.m. this time.

Was just down at the shop and saw something that reminded me of how we were, our little white cartoned greetings. Smiles came in 1 litre cartons, I never knew.

And now, as I plough these paper fields in efforts to upturn desperate enlightenment, you toss and turn. Your sigh and rustle whispers to me through the chopping of the fan, playing chorus to a techno beat. I only wish that my progress was proceeding at digital whiplash pace; there is still much to be done. At times like these, it seems like I'm running with the darkness, away from the sun, forever towing the horizon, that threshold between light and dark, knowing and oblivion. Always running, but never reaching. We're almost there.

Your notes and little surprises still catch me like they used to -- in pleasant suprise. I don't try to smile, because that's all I can do when I receive them. You should know how these things are. Because just as warmth fills the heart through eyes with the rising of the sun, from your fountain pours forth an essence, a flow and a comfort.

It's my turn to surprise you today. Another carton, just like old times.

Oh, and frankly, I miss your nagging even though it has been all of one day. Believe me, I don't know why either.


JKLM