Well, it may sound trite, but life is so beautiful to me that a lot of times I can’t sleep because I just don’t want to let go of it. As if I stayed awake longer it would stop time from taking the present moment away, which in actuality I know full well it is perpetually doing. It just doesn’t seem true until I drift off and close my eyes… and then when they open again it’s as if they are reacting to the loss- like at the exact moment that I am swindled of a bit of that nectar of life my body instinctively responds, propelling me into attention- begging me to yell, “stop thief!” But in reality, the tectonic plates are shifting under our feet at the pace with which our fingernails grow; time acting in correlation (not being kind enough to rob us with such a gift of swift awareness, but rather sneaking in at such a steady and consistent rate that we begin to recognize the tortoise as a bit of the antagonist in that old Aesop’s fable). I suppose I could go into the Grasshopper and the Ant or The Fox and the Grapes now, but enough analogy for one night, no? At a certain point we must all resign to the Master Pirates of dewy youth- Sleep and Time: cruel enough to take with no discrimination and yet romantic enough to keep fondly provoking the hollows of our mystery regarding hearts.