I can honestly say that very little happened today. So why am I still up? Could it be the nap I took this afternoon, because doing nothing made me tired? Why am I reading this New Moon story, in this quiet house, when I could be dancing? But where? Maybe on that rock in the Beaverkill. I left a piece of myself there, after all. A piece to find when I return one day. Or maybe I won't return and that piece will be a wisp of a fragment of an idea, a piece of me content to sit on that rock for all time.
Whatever the case, it's 1am and I am wide awake and I miss her.
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